Stigmata
by InferiorBeing
Summary: COMPLETE! HarryDraco Harry isn't the Dark Lord, so he cannot be with a Death Eater's son. This is the first time the BoyWhoLived ever asked for something and he cannot have it. So he takes matters into his own hands. Post HBP! Evil!Harry, Dark!Draco
1. Prologue

**Main Pairing: **Harry/Draco  
**Side Pairing(s):** Ron/Hermione  
**Rating: **T (PG-13, whatever... you get the idea)  
**Warnings:** homosexuality/heterosexuality, (graphic) fantasy violence, dark themes (kinda), minor character death  
**Summary:** (Harry/Draco) Harry isn't the Dark Lord, so he cannot be with a Death Eater's son. This is the first time the Boy-Who-Lived ever asked for something and he cannot have it. So he takes matters into his own hands. Post HBP!Evil!Harry, Dark!Draco  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine… no duh… this is on a fanfiction site after all.  
**Secondary Disclaimer:** Because of the nature of this fic (I dare not say more for spoiler reasons) there has-to-be/will-be flashbacks to events that occured in HBP. While I would normally shy away from such citation and/or consultation of the actual work, it is very necessary because, again, of the nature of this fic (which I dare not elaborate on for fear of spoilers again). I do not own HBP in any way. I am _not_ in any way re-writing or taking credit for HBP, I _am_ however twisting it's events to accomodate the fic.

**Stigmata  
**_Prologue: Whispers of Truth _

The lone occupant of the room looked up slowly as the barred door swung open with a creak. He didn't look surprised… or really, didn't look as though any emotion registered in his mind. As he had for the past week, his voice harsh and dry, he spoke only one sentence. A question.

"Where is Draco?"

And, for the first time in a week, Head Auror Ron Weasley answered him.

"Malfoy is in Azkaban waiting for his execution, as you will be if you don't answer our questions, Harry."

"You have not the right to question me," the dark-haired prisoner whispered furiously at his captor.

"Harry, please, work with us! Let us help you! I know this isn't the real you; come on Harry!" Ron looked in desperation at his friend, who's trial was to begin in one hour.

Harry Potter, or so he had been called, locked eyes with Ron and glared at him. He had changed. He no longer looked like Harry Potter, the Harry Potter Ron remembered. Gone was his former best friend, and in the shell left behind was something horrible, at least in the opinion of some people. But just looking at him, one could only see a year's growth in the young man; an inch added to his hair that still looked as if it grew where it willed to grow and nothing could stop it. Three inches added to his height, but his overall figure seemed unchanged by time.

It was his eyes that showed the year's influence the most. They were still the vibrant emerald color, but they were now guarded, calculating. They were deformed, too, at least in the opinion of most. Like his supposed mentor, Harry Potter's eyes were no longer human eyes. But while Lord Voldemort's eyes had resembled those of a reptile, Harry Potter's eyes resembled those of an owl. His owl, to be exact, although only someone like Ron, who had known Harry well before, could make that connection.

"You know nothing," the voice rasped at Ron, and Ron felt something break inside of him. But whether it was his hope or his heart, he couldn't tell.

* * *

"Sir, it's time to bring the prisoner in."

For a moment, it looked like Ron would stop the guard from removing his former friend from the cell, but he nodded and stepped aside as three aurors hauled Harry from the room.

Harry did not even look at his former friend on the way out.

* * *

The room was full of people, so full that it was hard to breathe amongst the audience. But people would have hung from the rafters, if they had to, in order to see this trial. This was the trial of the decade; nay, the century. The members of the Wizengamot were to try Harry Potter. Only four members still lived; they all sat waiting for the accused to be brought into the room and placed in the empty chair they faced.

There was an excited whisper as Harry Potter was brought into the room, not protesting, but walking calmly, encircled by four aurors. Each and every reporter of the many present was already writing a report of what would have to be one of the most important events in wizarding history.

"Harry Potter-" one of the members of the Wizengamot began.

"That is not my name."

All the people in the audience jumped at the sullen, yet powerful, words from the seated and bound wizard.

There was silence for a moment before the same member began to speak again. "Very well, then. Lord Scylla, formerly known as Harry Potter, you are on trial today for actions against the Wizarding World, and that of Muggles, as well. You are charged with the murder of one hundred and seventy-two wizards and witches and three hundred and forty-five Muggles of varying ages and locations. You are charged of helping to lead a conspiracy, a rebellion, against our world. You are charged with exciting certain groups, specifically Vampires and Centaurs, to join in this rebellion, bringing them together under an army loyal only to you, who call themselves the 'Furies of Hades'. I, Davenport Rok'lan, have been chosen by my fellow members of the Wizengamot to lead this case."

There was a pause, filled only with the scratching of quills on parchment. "You will not plead guilty or innocent in this trial. Our purpose is to discover truth or lie, and, to such an end, you will only be allowed to speak under the influence of Veritaserum in order to assure complete and utter truth. If it is proven that you acted not of your own free will in the actions of which you are accused, you will be proclaimed innocent; if it is proven that you acted under your own free will and of your own choosing, you will be proclaimed guilty." Rok'lan's steel gray eyes turned to Ron. "Head Auror Ronald Weasley, I ask you to administer the Veritaserum."

Ron's face was passive as he lifted a glass to Harry's lips and dosed his former best friend with the Truth Serum.

"Our first question for you, Scylla, is this: Are you a follower of the deceased He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"No," Harry's voice was clear and low.

Sighs of relief went around the room.

"Did you willingly participate in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's second rebellion?"

"Yes."

Silence filled the room.

"What drove you to willingly help He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Whispers and low voices filled the room. None of the Wizarding population had forgotten the trial only a week previous, in which Draco Malfoy, alleged second-in-command to Lord Scylla, and the only human in the Furies of Hades, was sentenced to execution, scheduled to take place three weeks from this very day.

"How did he drive you to do such a thing?"

People leaned forward in their chairs, waiting to hear of Imperius, or another curse. Or maybe it was a potion - Polyjuice, or something worse. What they were waiting for never came.

"I love him."

Pure silence filled the room. The members of the Wizengamot looked at each other before Rok'lan finally looked back at the boy sitting calmly waiting for the next question. Hesitantly, he asked, "And how did this come to be?"

In a low monotone, Harry began to speak:

"I wrote to Draco Malfoy at the summer before my sixth year at Hogwarts. I was certain that he was a Death Eater, but I knew no one would believe me without proof. I thought that if I wrote to him as someone interested in becoming a Death Eater, he might reveal in writing that he was one. Then I would have proof of his involvement.

"He didn't. So I continued the correspondence. After a while, I began to tell him more about myself, in hopes that, if he thought I trusted him enough to speak of my secrets, he would trust me enough to reveal that he was a Death Eater. I told him about my dreams, not specifics, but the generality of them. I did not speak of Lord Voldemort's connection to these dreams. He was the first one to listen to me without pity, maybe because he did not know of this. He was also the first to see my dreams for what they were: a weakness. He tried to help me purge this weakness from myself and, though nothing worked, he was the first one to try and help me rid myself of these dreams. Not cover them up, not block them out, but get rid of them.

"I began to like him. Shortly after sixth year started, I met him in Hogsmeade under a heavy glamour to hide my scar from him, just as a friend meeting a pen pal. We met more often, and my obsession grew. A week later we kissed for the first time. A week after that he found out who I was. He yelled at me. He damned me to the farthest reaches of Hell for what I'd done. And when I tried to explain that I no longer wished him harm, he rejected me. He said he was a Death Eater's son and I was no Dark Lord, so we could never have even friendship, let alone anything more.

"This was as close as he ever got to admitting that he was a Death Eater."

Harry paused for a moment, and Ron thought he saw something shift in Harry's eyes, as if he was trying to fight the Veritaserum. Then they faded back into their dull glow, and he continued.

"He said it was expected by the entire world. That I was expected to act certain ways, to do certain things, to not do others, and to be whom they wanted me to be. My dreams were now not of Voldemort, but of that. Of feeling that the world I lived in was slowly molding me, pounding at my body as a blacksmith would at a lump of ore. It went on for weeks. Those who thought themselves my friends started to worry, told me my obsession with Draco wasn't worth it asked me if anything was wrong. I told them nothing, and they were happy to continue seeing what they wanted to in me. They never realized what was happening. But somehow He realized it; Lord Voldemort realized it. My dreams shifted again, and he began to ask me why I was letting the world do this to me. He wanted to know what kept me Harry Potter, from doing what I wanted. He also wondered what it was I wanted to make me so bitter. I refused to tell him, and yet he kept asking."

Harry paused again, swallowed, and continued. "But one night was different. I don't know how he found out, but he did. He asked me why I was letting Draco push me away without a fight. Why I'd let Draco reject me, and why I'd let Draco hurt me in such a way. He said I needn't have done that. He said it was not impossible for Draco and I to have friendship, or even more. I didn't believe him. I told him that he was lying. But he wasn't. And he told me… told me that all I needed to do in order to cross the chasm that lay between Draco and myself, was to join him. Not as a servant, but as an equal."

The room held its breath along with the people in it, waiting to hear Harry's next words. They were not disappointed.

"I refused him. Over and over for I don't know how long. That one night seemed never-ending. I continued to refuse him. And the next night, even longer than the first**… **I still refused him. But on the third night, he asked me why I was being so stubborn. He asked me what the world had done to merit such loyalty from me. He asked me what was so important about the world that I placed it above myself so willingly. He said I'd never asked the world for anything. For all of my life the world asked of me and expected things from me, but I had never asked or expected back. He admitted that the reason for this was his own doing. But, even if he hadn't done as he had to my parents, he pointed out that the world would still expect things from me. My parents would have expected things from me. Even if they were alive, I could still never be friends, or anything more than enemies, with Draco Malfoy. But in that world, he said, in the world with my parents, I would have no way out, no chance to break free because they were my family, bound by blood. By destroying them, he had unwittingly given me a way out. None of my family was left to hold me by my blood. Only the expectations of strangers, people whom I might never know and people who sought to know me, but at the same time sought only to see what they wanted to see in me, were left. So he asked me if I would take the chance that my parents gave me when their lives ended. Would I do what I wanted? When the only thing that I had ever asked for was denied me by the world, would I turn on the world and take it as was my parental-given right?"

Harry paused and looked up at the people that stood or sat around them, as if seeing that they were truly listening to him. The room shuddered as people waited for him to continue.

"I said I would."

Even though they knew Harry had turned on them before the trial, the people in the room gasped at his confession. The last hopes that some of them had held, that their hero had been cursed or forced to do the things he had done, were shattered with those four words. But Harry continued speaking as if there was no one else in the room, in that same voice, devoid of all emotion.

"The night after that was the longest night I have ever slept through. Lord Voldemort taught me all he said that I needed to know in order to be his Heir. It seemed like I studied for ages, practiced spell work for ages more, and yet it all happened in one dream. At the very end, he evoked a ritual like that of the Death Eater's initiation. But mine was different. I was no servant, but an equal. I was not beneath or above him, but was to stand beside him. I was to set about creating my own group of followers when I awoke, and was free to choose whomever I wanted, he said. I could even ask Draco, he told me. He warned me to be careful whom I brought into my circle, because I was at a much greater risk than he, much closer to Dumbledore than he, but he said that this would soon be remedied. Even so, if even one person spoke to Dumbledore, if he began to suspect that I would not follow his plan, then he would be able to see through me to my true intentions. I would have to employ utmost secrecy. But before I could do that, he charged me with one other task: I was to find the secret chamber belonging to Ravenclaw. Dumbledore did not know the location of such a chamber, as with the secret chamber of Slytherin. It would be a safe place for me to hide anything and everything from him."

"Why would he think you would find such a chamber?" Rok'lan interrupted.

Harry looked at him and blinked before speaking again, his voice filling the room with a sound softer than a whisper.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter One: Snake in the Bird's Nest_

There were many stereotypes pertaining to the four founders of Hogwarts. They were so woven into the actual history that one had to be part of their lineage to truly know which were fact and which were fiction… Or, one just had to have a lot of time, or twice as much money as time. It was even better if one had both, like Lord Voldemort.

The founders obviously realized that they were going to be a part of history, to leave behind what they had: whole libraries, wills, journals, notes, things that historians would cut out their own hearts just to see. But they never would, because Lord Voldemort had most of those. And why? Because he wanted them.

It was simple to obtain such documents and information When one had power one tended to attract powerful followers whose family lines held sway. The only place that might hold more information on the founders than Riddle Manor was Hogwarts where the location of the actual libraries of the founders could be found, assuming one knew where to look. But no one did, because Voldemort held that information.

He'd started collecting such information after he'd found the Chamber of Secrets nearly fifty years ago even though he hated to think of things like that in terms of numbers, and - with it – found all of Salazar Slytherin's documents, including a bunch of drafts of letters that he'd written to his lover, Rowena Ravenclaw, when she'd been traveling for a few years on some project that he alluded to but never actually described. It was she who had sent him the young Basilisk that he had grown so fond of, and whose descendant Voldemort himself had come to like exceedingly well.

But knowing this made Voldemort, or at that time young Tom Riddle, curious. Following the fiasco with the Chamber, during his remaining time at Hogwarts after researching all he could about the Horcruxes he planned to make but did not dare make in the school itself, which would hardly have been prudent with Dumbledore watching him more closely than ever, he set about trying to find Rowena Ravenclaw's secret room. Salazar Slytherin had alluded to such a room, as he had mentioned that each founder had such a hidden retreat. Voldemort had never found it, but he'd gotten close. He found all the documentation pertaining to her study, but had never actually found the retreat itself. Even had he found it, though, he realized he would have had no way of opening it, as he was not her heir. He kept all of her documentation with Slytherin's and would have begun looking for the other two founders' information, except he ran out of time when his seventh year at Hogwarts ended. And then he never did have time to go back and actually find the rooms of the other two founders, because Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster.

Of course, one of the first things Dumbledore did as Headmaster was try to find the rooms of the founders. And, though the man never did find the Chamber of Secrets, the Chamber of Wisdom, the Chamber of Courage, or the Chamber of Faith, he _did _find the documents for the other two founders, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor.

Well, that wasn't completely correct; his team found those documents that Voldemort allowed them to find, as his loyal Death Eaters in the group had sent him all of the good information. Ah, yes, the Lestranges. They had been so good at their jobs, pity they had been sent to rot in Azkaban for it when they should have been congratulated.

But, that wasn't really what Lord Voldemort was thinking about, going through the information at his disposal about the founders. No, it was the startling facts of Harry's true heritage. One couldn't look at the boy himself because he hadn't been raised properly, so of course he would act differently than was his true nature right now. Give that a few years to come out.

Voldemort was pondering Harry's mother, Lily Evans. He had never actually met the woman, unless pointing one's wand at a woman and killing her counted as "meeting" her, but there had been something there that… wasn't quite right. From what he'd heard, she had been a studious little thing, and that only increased the feeling that there was something he was missing. So he was going to try to find out what it was, and if his suspicions were correct, the work he'd done in those months of boredom was about to answer all of his questions.

It would be obvious to anyone who had actually read Salazar's journal or letters to Rowena that the two had been lovers. It was also obvious that the two had kept it as secret as possible from the other founders, although the reason for this was unknown. Yet they'd never had any children together, as both of their genealogies showed. Salazar had left the three other founders, and like any other pureblood, had married another pureblood, and thus created the line from which Voldemort's mother descended.

But what had happened to Rowena? Her journal entries got progressively shorter as the time passed after Salazar's departure, and it was obvious that she was still very much in love with him, even though his arranged marriage was a stable one that produced heirs, and Salazar never once returned to the founders after their split. There was never any mention of another lover, yet Rowena somehow had descendants. There was a family tree and everything, and that was the key to his answer.

Rowena's something-or-other grandchild had caused a problem for the Ravenclaw bloodlineand had been disowned. She'd married some common riff-raff or something like that, which had dismayed her parents. But no one ever said whom she married. Her name had basically been burnt out of the family tree, and the name of her half-muggle lover, whom Voldemort had seen so many obscenities directed towards in letters between family members that it wasn't even amusing anymore, had never even been recorded; in not one of the letters was he mentioned by name, even though the Dark Lord had already been through most of the pile of letters. These were already dated after the marriage…

And then he found it. Dated twelve months after Selena Ravenclaw had chosen marriage over family there was a letter from her older sister to her mother:

"_Selena wrote me today, and I nearly broke tradition and went to murder her. She has a child, a son, by that horrible half-blood thing that she "married". I still cannot believe that there is a spawn of that Evans boy running around with blood from the Ravenclaw family…"_

There it was. Finally a clue. Now it made sense why something had triggered inside him when he'd killed that woman. Even after all the years of dilution, Salazar's blood could tell when Rowena's blood was present, in just the same way that Voldemort got a different feeling when around that meddlesome Dumbledore, who had the combined blood of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, who had married shortly after Salazar left the founders. It made one mourn the loss of the old blood magic. It was proof right here of how strong it was.

But Voldemort had new things to think about now that he knew. He would need to check the Evans genealogy to make sure that it was the same name, but, assuming that it was the same person, and assuming that Harry was Ravenclaw's descendant, then that at least cleared up some of the confusion.

* * *

Harry awoke to the sound of his dorm mates moving about in their normal noisy manner. Groaning softly, he realized that he ached all over. _Probably from that ritual, _he thought, forcing his reluctant muscles to move him into a sitting position. 

"Harry, you up yet, mate?"

"I'm up, Ron," Harry muttered through the bed curtains, pulling them back after he said so, as if to prove it to the energetic redhead who was already dressed and, from the looks of the wet hair clinging to his scalp, showered.

"Hurry up, Harry, or you'll miss breakfast!" Seamus called out from the other side of the room.

Harry muttered about how he knew that, and made his way over to the dormitory showers. Hot water did sound very good right about now. Maybe he'd skip breakfast and just use up the rest of it.

He pulled his pajama top off and dropped it on the floor carelessly. Yawning, he moved over to the shower stalls, pausing as a flash of green in the mirror caught his attention. There was a band of green on his right side…

Slowly, Harry twisted so he could see his back and realized that the band of green he'd seen was the tail end of a tattooed snake that coiled around his back, up over his shoulder and stopped, as Harry finished turning in a semi-circle so that his left arm was to the mirror, on his left upper arm. The snake was open-mouthed and fanged, a green representation of the snake from the Dark Mark that he was so familiar with.

It hadn't been just a dream, like all the others Voldemort had sent to him in previous years. What had happened had been real. There was no going back. And Harry grinned, as he turned the faucet on the shower to the highest temperature he could tolerate, though he found that this temperature was rather high.

* * *

Harry fought to concentrate on Charms, he really did, but it was a losing battle, and he knew it. Besides, he already _knew_ this Charm; one couldn't learn the Dark Arts without first learning easier ones, and the easiest spells were ones like whatever it was Professor Flitwick was describing. So Harry gave up. He knew how to pick his battles. And he needed the extra sleep anyway. Tonight he had some searching to do. 

It was all part of the plan that had to be implemented before he could be revealed to the Death Eaters and, more importantly, to Draco; it was the last piece of the puzzlethat Voldemort needed before he would explain his choice of heir. Harry had just nodded and gone back to thinking about Draco at that point, but he had understood the gist of it. Voldemort was the heir of Slytherin, a very pureblooded family. Therefore, it was assumed that every founder's family was pureblooded, which – of course – was complete lunacyas both Voldemort and he were actually half-bloods when it came to lineage.

But he'd learned that the present definition of "pureblood" was not absolute. Before the medieval times, the word had held a very different meaning. It had nothing to do with the red stuff that flowed through veins and came gushing out of a wound or cut. No, pureblood had to do with the life "blood" of one's magic. A pureblooded person had pure magic, magic that came from the days when blood magic was used to keep the string of magic which flows throughout all living things stable. This was passed down from generation to generation until little anomalies started to pop up.

These anomalies were people who could manipulate magic, but didn't actually have it in their blood. These were the muggle-borns. Eventually they married in with some of the purebloods and strange things occurred. Generations were created where a person couldn't use magic, and most of these people left to go live with others who could not and would not ever use magic. These created the "mudbloods", later called "squibs"; people who would never learn to use magic because of the problems created from integrating the muggle-borns with the purebloods. _That_ is why it is such an insult to a muggle-born if you call them a mudblood. It's like saying they are a mistake, a freak of naturewho has no place in the world because the world is held by magic and is forever lost to them because of their "dirty" blood.

But getting back to the point of things, since Voldemort was a pureblood,he would obviously be choosing another pureblood to succeed him. Voldemort had some theory that Harry was actually descended from Rowena Ravenclaw, so Harry had been given the task of finding the Chamber of Wisdom to prove so.

The whole thing was rather insane, really. Harry couldn't communicate with birds, like Rowena had been seen to do while alive. He'd tried, Merlin only knew how many times he'd tried. But he had never managed to get Hedwig to speak back to him. She understood him because she was a smart owl, or at least that's what he'd told Voldemort when she'd flown to his outstretched arm when he'd asked. Harry couldn't have communicated with her because he'd been speaking English the entire time. But Voldemort had said that the ability would come when he wasn't trying so hard, just like speaking to snakes had come when he'd been at the zoo and had just randomly commented on his cousin's behavior to the boa, although Voldemort hadn't really known the details, of course. Nevertheless, Harry was still skeptical.

But that wouldn't stop Harry from looking for this Chamber of Wisdom. Because only after this room was definitely found and Harry was identified as Voldemort's heir would he be able to reveal himself to Draco. Stupid tradition-type things. If Harry saw Draco flirt with one more Slytherin–

Oh, but class was over. Good. Now he just had to sit through dinner, and then he could start searching… if he could only find a way out of Gryffindor tower without attracting attention to himself. Ah, the joys of possessing an invisibility cloak.

* * *

Harry walked silently down the halls that were almost deserted now as students were heading to their dormitories and not up to the Owlery, as he was. The invisibility cloak seemed to slide across the floor like water as he made his way up the many steps and opened the door silently. As he pulled off the cloak and draped it over one arm, Hedwig flew down to perch on his shoulder. 

"Hey, girl," he spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb any of the other owls… which, on second thought, should just be waking up now, anyway.

All the clues left by Rowena pointed to her Chamber opening out of the Owlery, but Voldemort had never been able to find the entrance. He had said it was because he couldn't speak to owls, assuming, as Harry thought he was suggesting, without question that all the Chambers would open in the same way. Harry looked around the room cautiously, not really sure where to begin.

_Okay, if I were a founder, where would I put the door to my Chamber?_ Harry began searching along the walls for some sort of indentation that might indicate the entrance to a room, or maybe even a carving like there was on the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

"Where is it?" He whispered to himself as he completed the full circle around the perimeter of the room. He had to at least find the entrance. If he couldn't get in, that was Voldemort's problem, because it would prove that Harry had been right, but finding it shouldn't be this hard.

Hedwig cooed from where she sat as Harry moved across the room.

"Do you know where the entrance to the Chamber of Wisdom is?" Harry asked her quietly. He was very surprised when she flew from his shoulder to the window.

Well there went _that _theory. Harry couldn't talk to owls. And if Harry couldn't talk to owls, or even birds in general, then there was no way that he would find this Chamber.

He turned to leave, but there was an annoyed hooting from behind him. Hedwig was sitting on the windowsill, not having gone through it as Harry had expected. And she was looking at him as if expecting him to do something. Leaving his invisibility cloak in a corner, Harry crossed the room again. Hedwig moved back from where she'd been sitting and _looked_ down at a crevice in the windowsill.

And Harry saw it. On the intersection of the bottom and the right side of the window frame was a small engraving: a bird, maybe some form of owl**--**he couldn't be sure**--**with its wings spread in flight.

"Open up" Harry breathed, and, in the growing twilight, the words came out as a series of soft hoots.

The wall around the window shifted to form a staircase that spiraled down somewhere. Harry's eyes widened as he realized the implications of what he had just done. He looked over at Hedwig, as if for confirmation that this was actually happening, and she looked very pleased with him, as if saying "I told you that you could do it".


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two: Ravenclaw_

The stairway curved down into a darkness that Harry found himself lost in. "Lumos," Harry whispered, and a pale light was cast upon the stone walls of the small hallway that opened out from the circular stairwell.

Harry's footsteps seemed to undulate around him as he walked and the walls seemed to close in almost protectively around him. It was as if they knew him, but they were just stone… so how could they want to protect him? But then again… this was Hogwarts, and it was not the first time he'd felt that the castle was somehow… sentient.

A small door of black wood was all that the solemn hallway led to, and Harry paused slightly as the doorknob seemed to warm as his hand neared it.

The room he entered was lit by a faint cerulean light that brightened as he entered. Hedwig cooed from her position on Harry's shoulder and flew to a perch that was placed on a table in the middle of the room. Harry looked around in wonder at the room. The lofty rafters were decorated with detailed carvings of birds in flight, more birds than Harry had ever seen or even known existed. The walls of the room were covered in books of every shape and size, leather-bound volumes that held no dust, even though not a soul had entered the room for countless years. There was no fireplace in the room, but the floor seemed to radiate warmth upwards. Harry placed his wand back in his pocket and stepped further into the room.

There was a desk pushed up against the back of the room, with a plush chair placed in front of it, as if the occupant of the room had just left and was going to return. Harry felt a longing from the room, as if the room had waited for its creator to return… waited, but nothing had happened.

Hedwig squawked, and Harry's eyes were drawn back to the center of the room. Next to her perch was a stand, the top carved in the image of a phoenix in flight. Held between its outstretched wings was a blue orb that swirled with an electricity that seemed to boil within it. Suddenly, a small lightning bolt flashed out against its surface; the action then repeated itself a few seconds later.

Harry stepped closer to it so he could peer into its depths. Hedwig cooed impatiently.

"What?" he asked her.

She brought her beak down to peck at the orb's surface.

Harry again looked at the orb, and then tentatively brought a finger up to touch it. A bolt of lighting struck out at his finger, and curled itself around the point where his skin touched the surface. He added finger after finger, and, each time, a bolt from inside of the orb lashed out to the new point of contact and continued to stream towards him as his fingers stayed on the orb. Harry carefully added his other hand's fingers, and then slowly brought his palms to touch the surface, as well.

Lightning slashed out at him and coiled around his body. The orb flashed, and Harry could almost feel it speak.

_Ravenclaw._

Harry's vision filled with the blue depths of the orb, and he seemed to fall in the churning shadowy depths. There was an incredible jolt of _something_ and the orb cracked down its center. Harry's vision swam, and he lost all connection with the world as everything went black.

* * *

_"Harry. Wake up,__ please. They will start to wonder if you do not. Wake up,__ Harry. It's almost breakfast."_

What?

_"Harry, you need to go to breakfast. If you do not, questions will be asked that we cannot have asked."_

Harry's eyes blinked, and he looked up into the frantic eyes of Hedwig. "What?'

_You must get down to breakfast, Harry."_

Hedwig was talking. Harry bolted upright and immediately regretted the action.

"What's going on?" he asked, realizing only after he had spoken that the words had come out as soft coos… similar to how birds sounded.

_"You must go down to breakfast, Harry."_ Hedwig's words sounded insistent, even though, to an outsider, it would just seem as if the owl was hooting at him. _"People will ask questions if you do not."_

That was certainly true, and something that he didn't want. But an even more pressing matter had to be attended to first. Looking around the room his eyes landed on the desk pushed against the wall. Let's hope the ink hasn't dried out, he thought as he crossed on unsteady feet to the desk and fumbled around for some parchment, ink, and a quill. A smile lit his features when he found that the ink had been covered securely and had not dried out, even after all the years that the room had been in seclusion.

Not bothering with a heading, or even signing his name to the letter he wrote a single line of words in the blue-black ink:

_**I found it.**_

He rolled up the letter and turned to see Hedwig with her foot outstretched towards him.

"You're always one step ahead of me, girl," he told her fondly.

_"Of course I am,"_ she responded with an air of superiority

"Please take it to Voldemort."

Harry later could have sworn that the owl _nodded_ at him before taking off down the passageway.

Harry looked around the room one last time before leaving, and noticed that the blue orb had disappeared. A strange coincidence, but he needed to get down to breakfast.

* * *

"Harry, where were you?" Hermione's mother-is-scolding-you tone rang in his ears. "We looked all over for you and couldn't find you. Now you arrive late for breakfast. You only have fifteen minutes before Transfiguration." 

Harry's mind easily supplied him with an excuse as he concentrated on looking bashful. "Sorry, Hermione. I got up early to look something up in the library and lost track of the time."

Hermione's attitude lifted immediately and she let it go. Beside him, Ron laughed quietly.

"Good save there, mate."

"I try." Harry grinned at him, but his eyes were focused across the hall where the Slytherin tables were set. Draco had left for classes already… bloody hell.

* * *

Transfiguration with Slytherins and Gryffindors was always a class where one had to be alert. Not even the fact that the professor was the head of Gryffindor House would stop the small number of pranks that would be planned for that class. Most were never put into action because of said professor, but if there was even the slightest opening… well, one just always had to be alert in that class. 

The seating was also as segregated as it got: Slytherins on one side, Gryffindors on the other and no one could make the students change it. Draco Malfoy, being a proud Slytherin sat in the middle of the group of students from his House, and no one from Slytherin _ever _sat in _his_ chair.

But even though Draco didn't need to get to class early in order to procure this seat for himself, he did so anyway. Unlike other classes that were later in the day, no one talked when they came into this class. Everyone was still in a sleepy morning haze, so it was a good time to sit and think. And if the particular chair he picked happened to allow him to watch Potter enter the room for class and sit down in his chair, which was a few seats in front of the one that would have been Draco's own on the Gryffindor side of the room, then that was yet another reason to get to class early.

Harry felt Draco's eyes on him for a few moments as he walked into the classroom and almost lost the fight with his emotions to look over at the blond. But he couldn't, not yet. Draco had to know about Voldemort's heir first, then he could look at Draco all he wanted. Damn, Voldemort had better hurry up!

* * *

Hedwig was sitting on Harry's bed when he entered the boys' dormitory that afternoon. 

"_Hey, girl, did he reply_?" Harry asked.

"_Yes, he did. He was quite annoyed with your brevity."_

_"I bet he was,"_ Harry murmured, as he accepted the letter and glanced at it_. "But that didn't stop him from being just as brief,"_ he muttered.

**Potter,  
****We are going to discuss this tonight.**

_"Are you alright?"_

Harry nodded, leaning back against the headboard._ "Just impatient,"_ he cooed back at her.

_"You won't have to wait long. He told that worm-man that he would summon his inner circle tonight."_

Harry's upper lip curled at the thought of Wormtail. A spark of blue lightning flamed to life at his fingertips and startled him out of his inner musings

_"You are upset. Why?" _Hedwig asked softly.

_"How did I do that?" _Harry breathed.

_"That is Rowena's power. You have inherited it__" _Hedwig explained._ "All of the founders had expanded magical powers__ which is what made them great enough for history. In time, you will discover your true nature, my Harry__ and then you will be greater than they all were."_

_"How do you know so much?" _Harry grinned at her.

Hedwig looked at him, and Harry felt a smile in her words when she replied,_ "Salazar left his heir a Basilisk; one to guide his heir in his place. Rowena, too, left her heir a familiar: a Snowy Owl. It was not mere coincidence that I became yours."_

* * *

It was nine in the evening when Harry was jolted "out" of his sleep by the feeling of falling on the ebony floor that he knew from his dream experience two nights earlier. 

"Sleeping already, Harry? Don't teenagers normally enjoy later hours?"

Harry shot a glare at the man who sat near the fireplace and was watching with an amused look in his crimson eyes, as he slowly rose to his feet.

"Well?" Voldemort hissed. "What occurred in the Chamber of Wisdom?"

Harry saw the knowing look in those red eyes. "You know very well what happened, so why are you even bothering to ask?"

"Because I must be sure. Can you now communicate with your owl?"

"Yes."

"Good, then more of Ravenclaw's powers will come to you in time. I will release the dream-state and allow you to get back to your sleep. In the meantime, I shall have a discussion with my Death Eaters."

Harry smirked wryly, knowing full well there wouldn't be much "discussion", just Voldemort telling his Death Eaters what he wanted them to know. With the feeling of a decisive twist, the dream ended, and Harry knew no more other than a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Harry could see the next morning that there was hidden unrest within the Slytherins; but one could only tell that from the younger students. They hadn't yet mastered the art of concealing something that was wrong, and allowed some emotions to break through; the older students, like Draco, for example, were flawless in their emotions. One couldn't tell that anything out of the ordinary was taking place, based on their attitude. 

But it was good that they'd heard from their parents already, or at least they had all heard by the time breakfast was over. Now, all he had to wait through were stupid classes before he could talk to Draco about it. Harry himself would have gladly skipped all the classes and grabbed Draco in the hallway just as breakfast ended, but Draco would want to go to all of his classes. Oh well, Harry could count down the hours… it wasn't like he hadn't done so before anyway.


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three: Scylla and Charybdis_

Seated near the front of the courtroom, Hermione Granger struggled to hold back tears as Harry's monotonous voice continued to drone. The words seemed endless, forming a list of thoughts, actions, and events that would no doubt doom Harry to life in Azkaban, if not death itself. But still, she couldn't bear to believe it.

The smile that Hermione could not help but allow past her lips was a horrible one, as the Wizengamot practically pounced on Harry the minute he spoke of the Half-Blood Prince. Breaking from his narrative to answer questions, Harry identified that the person in question was indeed Snape, and that he had used Snape's old Potions book throughout the year. The Wizengamot probed at Harry's memories of the book, asking questions that might have proven that the book had bewitched him. Harry fended them off without expression, explaining that Hermione had felt that way too, and had checked the book thoroughly for such things when she learned that he had planned to use it.

The Wizarding World so wanted Harry to be innocent, Hermione realized. They wished for any excuse to once more call him their Savior. Were Harry in his right mind, and not drugged with Veritaserum, he could have used that to his advantage. But time and war had taught the Wizarding World not to trust accounts of previous Death Eaters unless they could be sure, through magical means, that they were telling the truth. Not that Harry was a Death Eater – or had ever been. No; as the Wizarding World was finding out, word by word, he was much worse.

Yet, she _knew _of Harry's guilt. She had been there when he had betrayed them… betrayed her, and Ron, and every other good wizard or witch in the world. She'd seen him choose Draco Malfoy over those who had stood by him for so long. She'd watched as the war had progressed, watched as everyone around her changed. They all aged so quickly. Ron had been forced to take on more duties and responsibilities than anyone his age should have. But he was the closest link to Harry that the aurors had, and thus he was called on to predict Harry's next move as well as he could. It took a long time before they truly realized that Harry had changed so much that no one but himself, and Draco, could have known what was going on in his mind. Still, Ron was too entwined in the war to back away, and that had left scars that only Hermione seemed to see.

Even she had not escaped the war completely unscathed. She knew what was said about her, how she was unable to speak to others now. She could speak, she was able to, but she just didn't want to. She had spoken before, during the war, in tactical meetings. No one had listened. And, now, she just did not have the will to speak to them. Only Ron seemed to understand. He was the only one who didn't push her to speak again, didn't try to make her 'snap out of it'.

Only Ron and she seemed to see Harry in Lord Scylla. Even now, with such treacherous words spilling evenly and calmly from Scylla's mouth, all she could see in him was Harry Potter. Harry Potter as he had been… as he had been before…

* * *

The hallways of Hogwarts were empty as Harry made his way down toward the Slytherin Common Room. It was well past curfew, and all the students were either sleeping or hanging around in their house's respective Common Room, if they were smart. Any stragglers out this late would soon be caught by Snape, Harry thought to himself as he clung to the shadows in the hall. Of course, _they _didn't have the help of an invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, and a teacher who'd been adamant that he learn to walk soundlessly and invisibly, even without the two. After eons of walking without sound in Voldemort's dream-state, having to force his footsteps to make noise on the stone floor was an interesting experience, and an annoyance. 

The guard for the Slytherin Common Room opened silently to Harry's whispered, "Stoicorum Ratio" (lit: _stoicism_), and Harry entered the dungeon. If anything, the Slytherin Common Room was colder than the hallway outside, with the fire apparently having gone out long before. It hadn't changed in decorum from his second year, either, except that the few festive decorations that had been present over the Christmas holidays were nowhere to be found.

The Slytherin Common Room was devoid of all students, except one. A result of having Professor Snape as Head of House most likely, Harry thought. He would check his own house first before his rounds to find any students out of bed.

And it would only be Snape's favorite student who would be able to bend that rule, Harry reflected, watching the small candle flame play with the contrasts of Draco's face. The only light in the room was that solitary flame, throwing Draco's hair into almost a golden halo around his face, and bathing his features in shadows. The blond hardly ever slept, a byproduct of the small amount of Vampire blood in the Malfoy lineage; Draco had told his "pen pal" this before he knew whom he was writing to. This was how the rumors of Draco's promiscuousness began, since there were so many nights that Draco did not find the need to sleep at all, and thus it was presumed that the reason he never went to bed was because he was in someone else's. But, while Draco was no virgin, he did have standards, he'd written Harry, and the idea that he'd sleep with just _anyone_ repulsed him.

There was no sound in the room as Harry walked towards where Draco was sitting, reading. Occasionally, he'd write a note on a parchment that sat next to the book. Ah, still doing homework then. Draco read almost as much literature as Hermione, though he at least hardly ever found the need to quote it; but if he was making notes, that meant it was not pleasure reading. As Harry neared, he listened to the soft whispers Draco made as he concentrated on what he read:

"A curious phenomenon at the south end of the Messina Strait are the little whirlpools, formed by the swift current flowing south into the Ionian Sea. There are several at a time, coming and going as the irregular currents move around. In ancient times, they could capture a small boat for a time and literally scare the occupants to death. The myth of Scylla and Charybdis was born to explain the mystery. The circular shaped white-water resembles a carnation, giving rise to the Sicilian name _garafano_, or carnation.(1)"

Harry was just behind Draco now, reading the page over his shoulder for a bit, waiting for Draco to pause in his reading before allowing his breath to ghost over Draco's neck as he spoke:

"Good evening Charybdis."

Charybdis and Scylla: the two pennames that Draco and Harry had used to commune with each other. When used in mythology, the idea of between Charybdis and Scylla was that of "between a rock and a hard place". Directly, Charybdis was a whirlpool, and Scylla was a woman with frothing dogs tied to her at her girdle. Together, they would destroy ships and kill sailors who dared to try to pass through the Strait of Messina. How fitting it was that, now, Harry hoped to enter that same kind of alliance with Draco.

The blond stiffened at Harry's words, placing his pen down on the table as a bookmark for where he had been reading.

"I thought I told you to get out of my life, Potter."

"In great detail."

"Then save me the time of repeating myself, and get out."

"You're not even interested in how I got inside in the first place?"

"Not at all," Draco lied while making a mental note to change the password first thing in the morning… or maybe right after Harry left.

"Well, I've decided not to leave until we talk, Charybdis."

"Will you stop calling me that?!" Draco snapped, twisting around to see… nothing. "And come out of whatever shadow you're in, Potter. I will not argue with an empty room."

Harry tossed the invisibility cloak off in a fluid motion, and stepped back to give Draco some room. As it was, the blond was already backed into a corner.

"I will not stop calling you that, because I wish for you to respond to me in kind." Harry smiled beatifically at the blond, and the candle's flame twisted the smile into a smirk with the shadows it cast.

"I will not call you Scylla, Potter."

"Why?" Harry tilted his head to the side. "Because the name now belongs to another, perhaps?"

The blonde's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?" he snarled. No one outside of Death Eater families should know of Scylla, the man that the Dark Lord had pronounced to be his heir the night before.

"How do I know the name of Voldemort's heir?" Harry grinned lopsidedly. "Because I've met the Heir himself, of course."

"If you know Scylla's name, then you also know that no one has seen him yet, Potter, except the Dark Lord, and that we won't see him for at least a year."

"But Charybdis, everyone in Hogwarts has _seen _him. They just don't know that his identity is connected to whom they are seeing, just like you right now."

"You're treading on very dangerous ground, Potter. _Get out_ before I lose what little control I have and hex you."

"Oh, you won't do that," Harry spoke calmly. Deftly, he pushed up his left sleeve as far as the fabric would allow.

In the candlelight, the emerald mark glittered like reptilian scales as Draco's eyes looked at the fanged snake head that seemed to hiss up at him from Harry's left arm.

"Do you need to see the rest of it? It's a rather extensive mark," Harry commented.

"No." Draco struggled to get the word out through the sick feeling that was forming in his stomach. "Why in the name of all things magical did you do that?" Draco himself wasn't sure what he was referring to exactly, getting the mark itself or joining the Dark Lord.

"Why? Because you told me to."

Draco was now pressed up against the table he'd been working at, the contours of his body melding to Harry's as the other boy pressed down on him.

"I'm not the Dark Lord yet, Charybdis, but am I close enough?" Draco was allowed no opportunity to answer as Harry brought his lips down upon Draco's own.

A moan slithered forth from the back of Draco's throat as he brought his arms up to encircle Harry's waist, to push them closer together. Holding Harry was like holding sin itself in your arms. A dark current of magic tingled all over Harry's skin, the effect of which was euphoric to Draco. The night before, the Dark Lord had described his heir as a fallen angel, and he had not lied. Fallen from the high celestial heavens of light magic into the depths of the hell of dark magic; and Draco was the demon that had summoned him forth, shattered his wings, destroyed his morals, broken his heart, and put it back together in a grotesque formation. Draco could easily have gotten drunk on the aura of complete and utter darkness that now coursed around and through Harry's very being, but Harry abruptly pulled back. Draco's mouth protested such an action before his mind realized that he'd done so.

"I won't make love to you on a table in the Common Room."

"Would you settle for one of the couches?" Draco asked breathlessly as he nipped at the sensitive skin on the juncture between Harry's neck and shoulder.

"No."

"Har-ry…"

"The last time we fucked on a couch, I woke up to you screaming at me because the glamour had worn off while I was sleeping."

"I promise I won't scream at you afterward this time."

"No, in all likelihood it would be one of your fellow Slytherins who would come down to the Common Room early, and find us unclothed and sleeping on the couch."

"Bloody hell."

"You do have a bed, Draco."

"But I don't want to walk that far… oohh, do that again."

"Bed, Draco."

* * *

Harry woke to the sound of heavy footsteps outside Draco's room. Blearily, he blinked and shifted out of Draco's embrace. The blond muttered softly in his sleep before curling up in the warm space Harry had just left. Soundlessly, Harry dressed and, with a last look at the sleeping Malfoy, disappeared out the door and into the shadows. His invisibility cloak hid him from view as he traversed the halls and climbed into his own bed in Gryffindor Tower. It was still early enough that his dorm mates would still be sleeping, and would never notice that he had not actually slept in his own bed the night before.

* * *

Harry walked silently beside Hermione and Ron as they made their way through Hogsmeade back towards Hogwarts, all of his thoughts centered upon not losing control of the small static feeling underneath his fingertips. Any irritation he felt seemed to bring on this tendency, and it was becoming harder and harder to hide the small sparks of lightning. It was also becoming harder to summon the will to hide the lightning, as well. Harry found he didn't want to hide his powers; he wanted to embrace them, instead, and learn their full extent _right now._ But he could not afford to let anything, not even the tiniest hint of his Ravenclaw inheritance shine through to where someone could see it; he could not afford for a hint of anything _different_ to get back to Dumbledore. 

"It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!"

Harry looked up at the shout to see Katie Bell and another girl fighting over something Katie was holding. Harry heard the sound of ripping paper as it fell to the ground.

Harry blinked as Katie rose into the air, as if she were learning to fly, her arms outstretched from her sides. Harry frowned as the wind began to pick up, seeming to center around her. He'd seen this before… a curse… what was it called again?

Harry's thoughts were cut off as Katie let out a shriek and continued screaming. Realizing he should be horrified that this was happening, he followed Ron towards Katie as her friend began to tug frantically at her ankles in an attempt to get her down from the air. Katie fell down as they reached her, but she continued to writhe in agony, so much so that Harry had to pause for a moment simply to watch; he was that impressed.

But she would be dead soon if this wasn't stopped, and that would cause too much unnecessary commotion. Harry yelled for Ron and Hermione to stay with Katie and ran off to find a teacher.

Hagrid was the first person he found, and he yelled frantically that someone had been cursed.

"Cursed? Who's bin cursed – not Ron? Hermione?"

"No, it's not them, it's Katie Bell – this way…"

He led Hagrid to where she still lay in the thrall of the curse, and Hagrid wordlessly lifted and carried her to the castle.

As Hermione tried to comfort Katie's still-sobbing friend, Harry and Ron turned to look at the package that had been broken and still lay on the ground.

Harry caught a glimpse of opal and the slight aura of a very old, and thus lasting, curse as Ron saw the stone. And he pulled Ron's hand back with a hissed, "Don't touch it!"

He looked more closely at what was hidden by the brown package paper. It was an opal necklace… one that seemed familiar to him. Yes, he'd seen it before.

"I've seen that before. It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it."

This, of course, begged the question: who had bought it? And why had they given it to Katie?

But, as Leanne told them how Katie had come back from the bathroom with it, saying she was supposed to give it to someone at Hogwarts, Harry began to reconsider those questions… and to whom he should be directing them.

* * *

That Draco was waiting up for Harry to appear in the Slytherin Common Room after curfew was no extraordinary event to Harry. That Draco outwardly appeared relieved to see him was. 

"Interesting events in Hogsmeade today," Harry commented, sinking onto the couch next to Draco. "Katie got cursed. Poor thing, really; I doubt I would be so cruel as to set such a deliciously horrible curse on her." Harry had slithered over Draco's body to rest his head on Draco's shoulder, his movements as fluid as the snake tattoo he wore. "Then I had to think, of course, who could be cruel enough to do that, and tasteful enough to use an ornate opal necklace." His eyes lifted to Draco's own and something shifted in their pupils as Draco watched. He couldn't place how it was strange, but something was off in that gaze.

"Why did you want to curse poor Katie? What did she ever do to you?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. Not about her anyway. I am curious as to your motivation though." Harry licked the curve of Draco's ear as he waited for the blond to tell him.

"I can't tell you that."

"Really?" Harry sounded bemused. "Why not?"

"Because I am not able to."

Harry frowned, and pulled back from Draco to look at him.

Draco watched as that strange look in Harry's eyes seemed to become even more prominent, though he still couldn't name exactly what was wrong.

Harry watched as something seemed to shift in Draco's image, and he saw a thin gray band circled around Draco's throat. But it had no substance. What was it? Harry blinked, and it vanished, along with the shifted view. Mentally Harry promised to speak to Hedwig about it as soon as he could, as he outwardly shrugged and settled back against Draco as if he had dismissed the entire incident.

* * *

Harry shivered as he made his way up the steps to the Owlery in the pale dawn light. The cold winds were a reminder that winter was fast approaching. Though, Harry thought with a hidden smile, he had no urge to fly south… at least not yet. Apparently, Ravenclaw wasn't as tied to birds as _that_. 

Hedwig flew down to him as he entered the relative warmth of the Owlery with a murmured admonition about being up so late.

"_You're going to tire yourself out, Harry."_

_"I know," _Harry grinned ruefully,_ "but this was important."_

_"Yes, you say that often, just like a chick. What is it that is so very important this time?"_

_"Tonight, when I visited Draco, something strange happened to my eyes."_

Hedwig hopped down Harry's shoulder to look into his eyes and nodded. _"Yes, but this was expected. Your eyes are shedding their old form for their new one."_

_"Do you mean they are fixing themselves?"_

_"Not particularly. As long as you embrace that human part of yourself, your human eyesight that is, they will remain the same vision you have always had. But a different sight is part of your inheritance. Your eyes are adjusting so that they may see as one of us does, as I do."_

_"What does that mean?"_

_"You shall see as we of the sky see: as clearly in the night as in the day, and a better perception of what truly exists. You will be able to see the threads of magic within a person, and the trappings of magic that has been inflicted upon other people or things."_

Harry frowned. So then… if what she was saying was true…

_"What did you see tonight?"_

_"A... ghost of a line around Draco's neck. It was gray."_

_"It is a band of magic. Tell me, what is it that he finds he is unable to speak to you about?"_

Harry frowned. _"I'm not sure exactly."_

_"I would find out, chick. Remember, you are not the only influence he has in his life."

* * *

_

(1)This comes, almost word for word (had to change it a bit to pass as a wizarding text), from www(dot)ancientroute(dot)com(slash)cities(slash)messina(dot)htm I felt that it sounded like a historical textbook and therefore am shamelessly copying it and recommending it for this story. Recently going to this site, I found that it does not exist anymore; however, it's still not mine to claim anyway!


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four: Magorian_

Harry recounted to the Wizengamot how he had come upon his choices for the Furies of Hades. Other than Draco, he was wary of having other humans under his control. They were just too similar to him – too opportunistic. Even those steeped in the old Wizarding traditions were still able to change their minds and break away from those traditions. He wanted those whom he knew were steeped in ancient lore at their very cores – those whom he could count on not to betray him, because he would mold himself to fit their unshakeable traditions.

So, he turned to Dark Creatures and their lore, and began to research. He snuck into the restricted section of the library, and when that proved useless, he turned to the books of Rowena Ravenclaw. She had only kept one book on Dark Creatures, and it was obvious from her notes that this was the book which had prompted her to get a Basilisk for Slytherin.

But Harry wasn't interested in Basilisks, or even the more bird-like Creatures. They were too unruly and unpredictable. And, while powerful, they were not what he was looking for. Two types of Creatures did catch his eye though, the first of which were the Centaurs.

The book had a very large section on Centaurs, he told the Wizengamot, and, more importantly, it told of how they read the sky. This was no Divination; this was a kind of magic much more complex and reliable, which dealt with one's blood.

Rushed whispers flew through the room as the Wizengamot allowed Harry to stand and draw out on a blackboard, which they provided, the runes that the Centaurs used to identify stars and the future by their place in the heavens. These runes, Harry explained, could be seen by Centaurs if they just looked up at the sky. Humans, however, would have to memorize them. So Harry had. He then used his own blood to find out what Centaurs would think of him, and thus how he should approach them.

He drew this rune, too, on the blackboard, and it quickly became so intense, so curved in on itself and complex, that even Hermione – who had always loved Ancient Runes and had paid utmost attention in class – lost all hope of following his explanation. Yet, from this mess of circles, lines, and letters, Harry had seen that he was under the protection of many celestial bodies.

Each person had a spot in the basic rune for a 'sire' and a 'parent', assuming that one was the dominant father being and the other was the nurturing mother being, respectively. Normally, if one of your parents had been born under a particular star, it showed in these slots. Harry's slots were filled with two planets – Pluto and Jupiter – with Pluto as his 'sire' and Jupiter as his 'father'. From Hermione's study of Ancient Runes, this was unheard of, yet Harry pressed on as if he hadn't just astounded Professors of Ancient Runes across the Wizarding World.

He pointed to the center of the circle, and spoke of how every person in the world was born under a star. This fact alone was not really important, but what was critical was the age of the star which held sway. A star was born with the rune character of zeroth, and, as it aged, it grew in number – monoth, duoth, treoth, quaroth(1), and so on – until it reached cenoth, which was the number for a hundred. Once it reached a hundred, the star died, and though the light from the star would continue to come to the planet for years afterwards, a person who was born under a 'dead star' would have a very bleak future. The lower the number of the star you were born on, the more successful you would be.

Harry's star held the number zeroth. This was important, Harry explained, for only at the very instant the star was born did it hold this number. A moment after, and it would hold monoth. No other person in the world could hold this number, he told the Wizengamot in a voice completely void of pride.

Around one's birthing star, there were three spaces, three points on a triangle, which showed the influence beings. Influence beings, Harry explained, were like older sisters or brothers; they loaned you their strength and guidance. Two of Harry's influence being points held celestial bodies. The first was the moon – Hecate, Harry informed the Wizengamot, for the Moon had many forms and each was very different. The second was Mars, the planet – the god – of war.

This had both amused Harry and given him confidence, he said, as he was again fastened to the chair. It told him he should continue onward just as he was, and act in his true nature to the Centaurs. From that, they would accept him.

His only problem was how to contact Magorian, who he remembered was the leader of the Centaurs. He could not write a letter, for Centaurs could hardly read or write any language. In the end, he turned to Ravenclaw's book and Hedwig for help. Centaurs had no real lore regarding opening communication, but they always sent a messenger to each other. Worth was shown by how important that messenger was.

Harry sent Hedwig, for though Magorian would not be able to communicate directly with her, by viewing her in the backdrop of the stars, he would know that she was Scylla's mentor and confidant – a very important messenger indeed.

* * *

Harry entered the Forbidden Forest warily, yet with a confident, silent step. He trusted that Magorian would understand the importance of his presence in the Forest, and that he was coming only to talk, yet he would not be caught off guard in case Magorian decided he would not see him. 

Hedwig landed on his shoulder with a rustle of feathers. "_The leader of this herd of Centaurs is waiting for you deep in the forest, chick. He was most interested in me, and thus in you."_

_"That is good,"_ Harry cooed, as he followed her directions deeper into the Forest. "_I'd hoped he would be."_

"_He is very wary, as you should be, chick, for he knows well what humans have done to Centaurs in the past. He will not be one to be caught off guard."_

_"I know. That is what makes him a noble leader."_

Magorian was waiting for him in the middle of a clearing, about a kilometer into the Forest, if Harry's guess was accurate. Magorian was as he remembered from the previous year: the chestnut colored body of a horse, with a proud countenance and long black hair. He was as opposite to Firenze as was possible – in both appearance and attitude.

Harry bowed low. Magorian – in fact all those he wished to unite with him – deserved his respect.

"I remember you," the Centaur murmured as Harry straightened. "You were one of the foals with the half-giant a year ago. Yet, now you walk like a stallion. Has so much changed in the interim?"

"I would not dare to insult you by assuming you could not see the change, the shift in my star and those that affect it."

Magorian viewed him with a calculating look. "There has been a shift, yes, but it will take months to decipher – years even. The future, like the stars, is always in motion. It is sometimes difficult to divine it."

"If I, a mere human, can see the shift and realize its potential, then surely the Centaurs knew long before I."

Magorian stepped close to Harry, leaning over to look in his eyes. Harry did not bother to hide their shape, allowing the Centaur to see the bird irises looking calmly back at him.

"You are changed, little foal. In the space of a year, you have indeed grown to a stallion. I had wondered why you sent a bird ahead of you, but I see now the connection. You have old magic brimming in you, which you did not before. To gain such wisdom in a year is something to respect."

He pulled back, though he continued to watch Harry, as if trying to divine his blood and, through it, his purpose. "What business do you have that you have called upon the Centaurs?"

"I seek an alliance with you, for the war that is to come."

"You speak for the Dark Wizard that wishes to throw his brethren into chaos."

"I speak for myself. I am Scylla, sired by Hades, son of Jupiter, brethren of Hecate and Mars."

Magorian's gaze softened as he looked at the Wizard before him. "Yes, I see that you are. But you are also a willing child of the Dark Lord who rose before and is rising again."

"I am more a Fury of Hades, than I am Voldemort's heir."

Magorian's gaze drifted upward. "What an interesting ideal, Mars' Furies working for Pluto."

"I wish to achieve that ideal. I invite the Centaurs to join with me."

"And, in return, what do we receive?"

Harry's gaze joined Magorian's, looking at the stars. "Wizards have hurt your kind since its creation, because of your nature – something you cannot change. In return for your aid and council, I would make you my brethren."

Harry said nothing more, for there was nothing more that needed to be said. Again he bowed to Magorian and walked slowly from the clearing.

"Scylla."

He stopped at the clearing's edge and turned again to see Magorian watching him with a strange look, as if he was looking at something truly great, yet could not see why it was so.

"I will speak to my herd about this. Send your messenger in a week's time, and you will have your answer."

Dawn was breaking over the Forbidden Forest as Harry slipped into the Gryffindor Common Room.

* * *

After thinking it over in the early dawn light, Harry decided that he would tell Hermione and Ron of what Dumbledore had shown him. Nothing but the truth would do in this situation… but that was no reason not to pepper the truth with lies. He tweaked the life of Tom Riddle so that the boy was brought up – groomed in fact – to be a Dark Lord, by a family steeped in Wizarding tradition, yet hiding the shameful fact that the boy's father was a muggle-born. He was quite proud of his tale when he'd finished. In fact, if he held up the two versions of the Dark Lord's past in his mind, he would say that his version of it made more sense. It had been perfectly timed, too – he finished right as they arrived for Herbology. 

"Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who," said Ron quietly as they took their places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps and began pulling on their protective gloves. "But I still don't get why Dumbledore's showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's the point?"

"Dunno," Harry replied, and truthfully he _didn't_ know. "But he says it's all important and it'll help me survive."

"I think it's fascinating," said Hermione earnestly. "It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?"

Harry changed the subject abruptly – he didn't want them thinking _too_ far down that line, at least not yet – "So how was Slughorn's latest party?"

"Oh, it was quite fun, really," said Hermione, now putting on protective goggles. "I mean, he drones on about famous ex-pupils a bit, and he absolutely _fawns_ on McLaggen because he's so well-connected, but he gave us some really nice food and introduced us to Gwenog Jones."

"Gwenog Jones?"

Harry didn't really get Ron's excitement over this… person… whoever she was, but Hermione's explanation of what she thought of the captain of the Holyhead Harpies was cut off by Professor Sprout.

"_Quite_ enough chatter over here! You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville's already got his first pod!"

Well, that was _really_ nice for Neville, Harry thought darkly as he eyed the bloody lip and scratches that Neville was sporting. That certainly didn't motivate him to move any faster.

"Should've used Muffliato, Harry," Ron muttered as Professor Sprout moved away.

"No, we shouldn't!" Hermione replied, as Harry knew she would. He found Hermione's paranoia when it came to the Half-Blood Prince rather amusing, though annoying as well.

They wrestled with the innocent-looking stump – which sprang to life with bramble-like vines when they touched it – until Hermione pulled out a pod like the one Neville had held. As they let go, the vines shot back inside the stump. Harry glared at the innocent-looking plant darkly. It was much more trouble than it was worth.

"You know, I don't think I'll be having any of these in my garden when I've got my own place," Ron said, echoing Harry's own, rather more colorful, thoughts.

"Pass me a bowl," Hermione said, holding the pod at arms length. Harry handed one over, and she dropped it in, a look of disgust on her face.

"Don't be squeamish, squeeze it out; they're best when they're fresh!" called Professor Sprout.

Hermione continued the conversation as if a stump had not just attacked them. "Anyway, Slughorn's going to have a Christmas party, Harry, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one, because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come."

Harry groaned, visions of murder filling his mind at the thought. He was sure that would be loads of _fun_.

Ron, who was attempting to burst the pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could, said angrily, "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?"

"Just for the Slug Club, yes."

The pod flew out of Ron's fingers, and Harry used this as an excuse to get away from the two of them for a few seconds. When he got back, Hermione was saying, "Look _I_ didn't make up the name 'Slug Club'-"

Ron's sneer was worthy of Draco, Harry mused as the redhead shot back, "_Slug Club. _It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug-"

"We're allowed to bring guests," Hermione cut him off, and Harry groaned inwardly as he saw she had turned a bright scarlet. He had an idea of where _this _was going. "And I was_ going t_o ask you to come, but if you think it's that stupid then I won't bother!"

Harry wished that the pod had flown farther – like out of the greenhouse all together – so that he didn't have to sit though this. He seized the bowl and began to try and open the pod by the noisiest and most energetic means he could think of, but that still did not drown out their conversation.

"You were going to ask me?" Ron asked, in a completely different voice.

"Yes," Hermione replied angrily, "But obviously if you'd rather I hooked up with McLaggen…"

Harry felt his anger begin to spark into heat between his fingers.

"No, I wouldn't," said Ron in a very quiet voice.

Harry's fingers sparked, and the bowl shattered.

"_Reparo,_" he said hastily, poking the pieces with his wand. The crash had managed to solve his problem, though: Hermione and Ron had realized they were getting mushy in the middle of a greenhouse.

"Hand that over, Harry," said Hermione hurriedly – still flustered, "It says that we're supposed to puncture them with something sharp…"

He had realized this would happen sooner or later, Harry thought as he handed the pod and bowl to Hermione. He'd seen it coming. It _could_ actually be helpful if they got so entangled with each other that they didn't notice if he disappeared for hours on end – and then, even if they did, he could say he was giving them 'alone time' or something. But with this came a possibility for disaster. One disagreement, and they were sure to have one sometime, could set them up for a huge argument – one that he'd be entangled in eventually. That would give him even _less_ freedom to move about in. No, it was better if they didn't get together at all.

Hermione managed to burst the first pod open as Ron pulled the second from the stump, both seemingly oblivious to Harry's musings. Harry grimaced as he looked down at the bowl, now filled with tubers wriggling like pale green worms.

Disgusting… just like Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Harry didn't bother to hide his presence long enough to check whether anyone was in the Slytherin Common Room or not. If they heard him, he could modify their memory later, anyway. 

"Those two make me sick!" he hissed, flinging himself on top of the couch and Draco, unheeding of Draco's protests or the blonde's quick grab at of the ink bottle to move it out of harm's way.

"Which two is it?" Draco asked, less flustered, as he replaced the stopper on the ink bottle and set it down on top of the table.

"Oh, pick your pair," Harry's voice groaned from the vicinity of his lap, "Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Dean, Ron and Ginny-"

"_Weasley and his sister?"_ Draco's voice sounded strangled.

"Not like _that_." Harry grinned insanely despite himself. "Though that would explain his over-protectiveness."

"So what happened?"

Harry started back at Herbology with Ron and Hermione's sudden revelation that the other existed and continued through Quidditch practice, during which Ron and Ginny began tearing into each other over her relationship with Dean.

"You're going to win the game, you know," Harry groaned, "There's no way to make them all work together."

Draco's hand stilled from where it had been following the trail of Harry's hair from his temple to his jaw, "Well, I'm not going to win the game. I'm not playing tomorrow."

"You're not?"

"No."

Harry sat up abruptly. "Why?"

"I'm not going to play against you anymore. That's all."

Draco wouldn't catch his eye as he spoke, but Harry was sure he was lying. Draco was a good liar, Harry had to admit, but something was just off about that reason. He stared at Draco until the Malfoy heir looked back at him. Shock was not the expression he thought he would see, though.

"Harry, what happened to your eyes?"

Harry blinked, and realized that he could again see the band of grey around Draco's neck. He must have triggered the transformation to his owl eyes, though he had no idea how he'd done it.

"It's just… part of being Ravenclaw's descendant," Harry muttered. "Hedwig told me that I'm just growing into her powers."

"Hedwig?"

"My owl."

Draco was staring at him. Harry frowned. He supposed it _did _sound a little weird – after all, hadn't he challenged Lord Voldemort when he had said Harry was Ravenclaw's descendant?

"I'll show you." He took Draco's hand and pulled the boy toward the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.

* * *

Hedwig flew to his shoulder as he entered the Owlery without prompt, turning to gaze unblinkingly at Draco. 

"_Who is the golden chick you bring with you?_"

Harry pulled Draco further into the Owlery and presented Hedwig to him. "This is Hedwig, Draco. _Hedwig,_" he added in her aviantounge(2), "_this is Draco."_

Hedwig blinked once at Draco and then dismissed him, "_He is a strange little chick, but I do not mind his presence."_

Harry gave her an amused glance before leading Draco over to the window. "_Open up," _he ordered, and pulled a startled Draco through the opening before it could close on them.

"What is this?" Draco asked as Harry led him down the small hallway to the chamber door.

"This is the entrance to the Chamber of Wisdom," Harry felt he need not explain further. Draco was smart enough to make the connection from the Chamber of Secrets to the Chamber of Wisdom. "Voldemort bid me find this before he would make me his heir."

The Chamber of Wisdom, in Harry's opinion, had never been as grand or majestic as the Chamber of Secrets. It was simply more lived in. It was obvious that Ravenclaw had actually worked in the Chamber, instead of just housing a pet there. Then again, he supposed that her Chamber would look more lived-in than Slytherin's, considering that he had left Hogwarts long before the other Founder had died.

Still, it was a treat to watch Draco look around the room in amazement. "This is yours?"

"Well, it's not technically mine; but, since I'm the only human who could get in here, you could say that. Dumbledore doesn't know it's here, either, so I can practice in here without being watched."

"You mean like with your eyes?"

"Yes, and with the other things I'm supposedly growing into as well."

"Like what?" Draco asked curiously from where he was examining one of Rowena Ravenclaw's bookshelves.

"Whenever I get a strong emotion, my magic starts to manifest itself as a tingling or a heat in my fingers. If it's a very strong emotion, it comes out as sparks of lighting. If I try to ignore it, it comes out more frequently, and for smaller emotions, so I come here to let it out."

Draco pulled a book off a shelf. "And it comes out as lightning? Real lightning?"

Harry nodded before realizing that Draco was skimming the book and wouldn't see him. "Yes."

Draco looked up with a curious expression. "Show me."

"What?"

"Show me," the blond repeated.

"_Yes, show him," _Hedwig agreed from her perch. "_It would be good practice for you to create the lightning yourself, for once. Impress the chick; make it a big one."_

Harry blinked at his familiar, wondering how he was going to _create_ the lightning when he had no real emotion to burn off. He looked down at his hands, as if they would just suddenly start sparking on their own. They didn't, and he frowned at them. He blinked, and the world shifted.

He realized that he'd again brought out his owl eyes, as he looked down at his hands. The blue veins of his magic twirled around his fingers as he watched. Looking up at Draco, he saw a flicker of the other boy's magic twining around him, different and distinct from the grey band visible at his neck. Draco was waiting expectantly, so he looked down at his fingers, pointed at the fireplace, and _pulled_.

The magic pulsed forward, and shot out. The stone of the mantle exploded as a blue flash of light connected to it with a hiss.

"_This boy is a good influence on you," _Hedwig murmured. _"I approve of him. He got you to do in one night what I have been waiting for you to do for weeks."_

The look on Draco's face was a cross between triumph and awe. "That's definitely a new trick, Scylla."

Harry grinned and shrugged. "I still have to work on the accuracy a bit. That landed much higher than I wanted it too."

Draco nodded, returning to the book. "Have you read all of these yet? They're fascinating."

"Never been much of a book person," Harry drawled. "But you can read them, if you want."

Draco looked up, puzzled. "I thought you were the only one who could get in here."

"Well, I'm the only human that I know of. I assume any bird could get in, if they wanted to."

He looked over at Hedwig for confirmation. Hedwig huffed, _"Of course we could, chick, but why would we want to? This is a place for your kind, not ours."_

_"Then if Draco wants to come in here, will you open the way for him?"_

_"If you wish it, chick."_

Harry nodded, looking up at Draco, who was watching him with a bemused expression. "It was much more unnerving when you were talking to snakes, you know," Draco drawled.

Harry could have sworn Hedwig _snorted_ at that. He grinned at her uncomplimentary words. "Even though I think you just insulted her, Hedwig will let you in here if you want."

* * *

Harry lay awake long after Draco's breathing had evened out in slumber. The Quidditch game for tomorrow really was screwed for the Gryffindor team if he didn't think of something in the next few hours, and, with Draco not playing, he didn't even have someone to blame it on to Ron when they lost. The problem was that Ron had no confidence. 

Harry's eyes drifted shut as he cast about for a solution, and he was rewarded when a thought appeared. A memory of the little vial he had stored away in the dorm for an occasion when he needed luck. A cruel smile adorned his face as he drifted closer to Draco with a murmured request for Hedwig to wake them long before breakfast.

He wouldn't _really_ use the Felix Felicis… but that didn't mean he couldn't manipulate Ron's luck in his own way.

* * *

(1)_Zeroth, monoth, duoth, treoth, quaroth… cenoth_ - are all numbers I got by fiddling around with Latin (and English for the 'zero' number) and Greek numbers. No real significance other than that should be attached to them… though personally I think they are kinda cool. 

(2) 'Parsel' from 'parseltounge' denotes something to do with snakes. So… using that logic, I named Harry's "bird speech" as aviantounge, the 'avian' denoting something to do with birds.


	6. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five: Hecate's Glory_

Fresh snow was light upon the ground as Harry made his way through the Forbidden Forest. His footsteps disappeared behind him, leaving only a faint whisper of magic in his wake as he walked to the familiar clearing where the Centaurs waited for him.

They were an impressive sight, greater in number than Harry had imagined, and waiting silently for his arrival. It was not often that the Centaurs met in a group, even here, where they were relatively protected by the Forest, for history had taught them that whenever they gathered, they ran the risk of hunters. It was a sign of trust for them to gather here before he arrived; it showed they trusted him to protect them even from a distance.

Magorian stood apart from the other Centaurs, who had arranged themselves around him in a semi-circle. As Harry entered the clearing, he bowed, and the rest of the Centaurs followed suit.

"Rise, Magorian. Your people need not bow to me. I come as a brother, not a master; a friend, not a Lord."

The Centaurs rose as one before him, and looks of approval passed along the faces of those whom he had never seen before. He intended to know all of them by name soon enough, but, for now, he had to let his actions speak for him. Harry's eyes rose upward, and the Centaurs' gaze followed his.

"The moon is in an interesting phase tonight," Harry murmured, his eyes glowing as they shifted. "In the light of the new moon, the magic of wizards is normally muted, while the magic of those who live in darkness is strengthened. Apollo's light, from which the moon feeds, refuses to shine upon me tonight. It is because of this that I come to you now, offer myself to you, at my weakest. Gaze to the northern skies; see Jupiter's descent into the reaches of Heaven. Jupiter, from whom Ravenclaw descends, and from whom I trace my blood, still shines even in his descent. He shines because his child rises to adulthood – he is no longer needed to guide his child's footsteps. Turn to the eastern skies, my brethren, see Hades – Pluto – my sire. See his light, too, reflected even in this – the darkest night – upon his child. See the planets under which I was born; see what I offer you. I come not to offer you up as servants or slaves, but to welcome you home, my brethren. What say you?"

Harry waited as the Centaurs looked to the stars, and then gazed at him. He remained still, all pretence of 'Harry Potter' gone and, in his place, stood Scylla, a dark wizard, Voldemort's heir, and the descendant of Ravenclaw.

Magorian looked back at the other Centaurs, who in turn looked to him to speak for them. He turned back to Scylla, and walked toward him, stopping an arm's length away. Though Magorian towered over Scylla in height, as did most of the full-grown Centaurs, looking at Scylla felt the same to him as looking up at his father when he was a colt.

"On this, the darkest night, when Hecate's glory dominates the skies, we have been shown light – a path, a way – and we, the Centaurs, are ready to come home." His arm raised, offered palm up to Scylla, who placed his palm upon it without hesitation.

"Welcome home, by brethren." Scylla's eyes lit as his power streamed from him in waves. It echoed through the clearing as strands broke from the waves to touch each Centaur. Even as the threads locked on their throats, the Centaurs stood firm, trusting, as Scylla's Mark adhered itself to their skin, burned its way into their veins. And, when the magic disappeared, the blue lighting bolt entwined with feathers glowed upon their skin between their prominent clavicles.

"Welcome home," Scylla repeated, "my Furies of Hades. As such, we are all family, united together under one cause, one blood, one flesh. Darkness courses through us all and unites us. The King of the Dead watches over us and is our father; Jupiter, from whom Ravenclaw descends, watches over me, and, as such, my protection shall cover you as it does all who are Furies."

* * *

Harry realized that Ron and Hermione were feuding yet again as he tried to keep himself awake the next day. He frowned into his reading as this realization came to him. He should have seen it earlier – he should not have let himself be so occupied with his true self that he forgot to cultivate his false one. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes in their human form, and his errant magic seemed to be more agitated than ever. It had calmed down considerably since he'd Marked the Centaurs, but even that wasn't sufficient to please it for long. 

But magical problems aside, he could use this new problem to his advantage, he thought, if he could cultivate it in the right way.

"She can't complain." Ron was muttering beside him – talking about Hermione, Harry assumed. Ron wouldn't be talking about Lavender that way. "She snogged Krum. So she's found out someone wants to snog me, too." Yes, definitely Hermione. "Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong."

Harry mused that soon it _wouldn't_ be a free country, but kept his thoughts to himself as he pretended to be absorbed in the book they were supposed to have read before Charms the next morning.

"I never promised Hermione anything," Ron mumbled beside him. "I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said… just as friends… I'm a free agent…"

Harry's stomach dropped at Ron's words, though outwardly he merely continued reading. Slughorn's Christmas party… he'd _completely_ forgotten about it. That had to be happening soon, though; he would have to do something about it, as well. He hid his smile as he turned a page, and Ron's voice trailed away into mutters. It was too bad he couldn't really shake things up and take Draco to the party. But that would make everyone sit up and take notice.

He was curious as to what Hermione would think of the feud between herself and Ron – since he'd apparently missed that as well, but he doubted she would mind refreshing his memory. Her schedule was so full that he could only talk to her in the evenings, when Ron was… otherwise occupied with his squid of a girlfriend. Harry joined her in the library, unable to sit in the common room without hexing something. How could he have been so blind as to miss _that_? It must have started during one of the nights he went to see Draco.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," Hermione said resolutely. "I really couldn't care less."

As she dotted an '_i_''so ferociously that she actually punctured the parchment, Harry went back to his _Advanced Potion-Making_ and tried to decipher the Half-Blood Prince's additions to the text on Everlasting Elixirs.

"And, incidentally, you need to be careful," Hermione added after a few minutes.

Harry fought back the urge to glare at her. "For the last time, I am not giving back this book. I've learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in-"

"I'm not talking about the book," Hermione gave him a nasty look and Harry blinked. If it wasn't about the book…

"I'm talking about earlier today," Hermione explained. "I went into the girl's bathroom just before I came in here, and there were about a dozen girls in there, trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They're all hoping they're going to get you to take them to Slughorn's party, and they all seem to have bought Fred and George's love potions, which, I'm afraid to say, probably work-"

"Why didn't you confiscate them then?" Harry demanded. Not that such things would even work on him, anyway – Voldemort had trained him to resist potions of all kinds. He doubted Fred and George could make something so strong…and so _dark_… that it would affect him.

"They didn't have the potions with them in the bathroom," Hermione replied scornfully. "They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt whether even the _Half-Blood Prince_" – she gave the book another nasty look – "could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I'd just invite someone to go with you; that'll stop all the others thinking they've still got a chance. It's tomorrow night; they're getting desperate."

Well Harry didn't _want_ to invite anyone else to the party, so they'd just have to get used to the idea. Secretly, he wondered how astounded they'd all be when he ate or drank whatever it was that they'd doused with love potion and his magic diluted it instantly. "There isn't anyone I want to invite," Harry lied blithely. Of course, he'd invite Draco if he could get away with it.

Wait a minute… how were those girls even smuggling in the potions? Weren't they – "I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?" Hermione asked, continuing her essay.

"So how are these girls smuggling them in?" If they could find a way, Harry could definitely use it… though his imports might be slightly more vicious than a love potion.

"Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions," Hermione replied. "It's part of their Owl Order Service."

"You seem to know a lot about it."

Hermione gave him a nasty look. She'd been considering _something_, Harry mused with glee.

"It was all on the back of the bottles they showed Ginny and me over the summer," she said coldly. "I don't go around putting potions in people's drinks."

"But Filch is being fooled, isn't he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else!"

"Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don't they?" Hermione replied with a sigh. "They're used to find Dark Magic and Dark objects. They would pick up powerful curses, but something that's just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register – and since love potions aren't Dark or dangerous-"

"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered. Well, there went one good idea.

"-so it would be down to Filch to realize it wasn't a cough potion, and he's not a very good wizard; I doubt he can tell one potion from-"

Harry's ears perked up as Hermione stopped dead. Someone had moved close behind them. They waited, and a moment later Madam Pince appeared around the corner. "The library is now closed," she said. "Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct – _what have you done to that book, you depraved boy?"_

"It isn't the library's, it's mine!" Harry protested as he grabbed his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making­_ out of her reach. Well, if writing in a book made him depraved… he wondered how truly awful he really was!

"Despoiled!" she hissed. "Desecrated! Befouled!" She looked as though she might have a seizure. Harry wanted to watch a bit more to see if she _would_, but Hermione grabbed him by the arm and marched him away.

"She'll ban you from the library if you're not careful. Why did you bring that stupid book?"

"It's not my fault she's barking mad, Hermione," Harry protested. "Or d'you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I've always thought there might be something going on between them…"

"Oh, ha ha…"

Harry ignored the sarcastic laugh, as he followed Hermione back to the Gryffindor tower. The moment he climbed through the portrait hole, he was hailed by Romilda Vane holding a goblet in one hand.

"Hi, Harry!" she said. "Fancy a gillywater?"

Hermione gave him a "what-did-I-tell-you?" look as he shook his head and declined the offer.

"Well, take these anyway," Romilda said, thrusting a box into his hands. "Chocolate Cauldrons, they've got firewhiskey in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them."

Whose grandmother sends them candy with alcohol in it? Harry wondered as he hurried away from the girl.

"Told you," Hermione said loftily. "Sooner you ask someone, sooner they'll all leave you alone and you can-"

But her face suddenly turned black; she had spotted Ron and Lavender. Harry secretly agreed that it looked rather grotesque. Kissing could not look _that_ disgusting from the outside, could it?

"Well, good night, Harry," said Hermione.

Harry nodded absently as she left for the girls' dormitory, even though it was only seven o'clock. Harry grinned to himself as he climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitory – this feud did indeed have its advantages. Hermione was holed up away from Ron, Ron was completely oblivious to everything except his libido; it was perfect for Harry to get away for a few hours.

* * *

Hedwig hooted to him in greeting as he entered the Owlery, adding as an afterthought that she'd let the young Malfoy boy in earlier. Dropping a letter into his hand that she said she'd been told to give him, she declared that she was hungry and was going out to hunt. 

"_Good_ _hunting_," Harry wished her as the doorway to the Chamber of Wisdom opened, and he slipped inside before it closed again.

Draco was finishing what appeared to be the same essay Harry had been working on in the library as he entered. Harry noted that Draco's was about double the length of his own and that Draco appeared to not need the book before he draped himself over the other boy.

"Surely essays don't require that much work," he murmured as Draco set down his quill.

"They don't, but I was bored."

"Sorry to be late – I realized that Ron and Hermione were fighting."

Draco's eyebrow rose as if to ask why they were supposed to care.

"It's something I can cultivate to keep them occupied, I think. And, if things go as disastrously as possible, it will be even worse after Slughorn's party." Harry's tone was positively elated.

Draco frowned as Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "And who are you taking to the party?"

"No one. Though I'd be giddy if you crashed the party."

"I'll think about it." Draco's tone sounded smug.

"You know," Harry purred. "I can't always cater to your jealously."

"And why not?"

"Harry Potter hates Draco Malfoy, remember?"

"Shut up, Scylla, and kiss me."

There was nothing Scylla could say to that order, so he followed it.

* * *

Hedwig pecked him awake the next morning, and, from the lack of warmth, he realized Draco had left long before. 

"_Did you read the letter?" _she demanded.

"_No. I was distracted." _Harry grinned lazily as he recalled how pleasant those distractions were.

"_Sometimes you're more like a tom cat than a bird," _Hedwig teased. "_Are you sure you're not descended from Gryffindor after all?"_

_"You wound me with your accusations!" _Harry shot back as he pulled out the letter from the mess of his clothes from the night before. _"Besides, what could Voldemort have to say that is so urgent?"_

_"It's not from Voldemort, foolish chick. That is why I wanted you to read it."_

_"Well, you didn't say anything about it being important_," Harry griped as he opened the letter. He stared down at the writing for a moment before Hedwig became impatient and hopped up on his shoulder to read it too. The awkward writing was barely legible, but the words were just clear enough to read.

Scylla  
I would speak with you if you would see me  
Firenze

"_It is strange for Firenze to be writing to me,"_ Harry commented to Hedwig as she looked down from his shoulder.

"_It is strange for any centaur to bother with writing,"_ Hedwig retorted. "_He must respect you greatly for him to lower himself to such methods."_

"_What do you think he wishes to speak to me about?"_

_"The other Centaurs, most likely."_

Harry frowned, thinking. He did not know how close Firenze was to Dumbledore; he had not had any Divination classes so he had not even seen the Centaur since last year. If this was a trap, and Dumbledore wanted to see through to his true intentions, it would be best not to go and pretend not to understand what Firenze had said. But, if this was genuine, Firenze had been a strong ally of his in the past, even to the point of enduring exile for him.

Harry left Hedwig in the Owlery as he headed for Firenze's rooms. He had time before that bloody party of Slughorn's to talk to the Centaur.

And, if he believed that Firenze was spying for Dumbledore, he would pretend he had no idea why Hedwig had delivered the letter to him and leave.

* * *

Firenze was waiting for him when he entered the Centaur's classroom. "Thank you for coming to see me, Lord Scylla." 

Harry blinked at him. "Who are you talking about?"

The Centaur bowed. "Forgive me, my Lord. I did hope you would trust me, but I can see that I was wrong."

As the Centaur's gaze remained fixed upon the ground, Harry's gaze shifted to the more bird-like one. The only magic in the room was the residue of the students from his classes. There was certainly no magic left from Dumbledore, which would have left its traces, no matter how hard the wizard tried to hide it.

"Rise, Firenze. I apologize for mistrusting you. I have not seen you in a year, so I was wary."

The Centaur smiled as he rose from the bow. "You have truly come into your power, young Lord. It is as I saw before your eleventh year began."

"It is strange you say such," Harry told him. "When no other Centaur has said so."

Firenze shrugged. "Sol has always shed his light strongly upon me, and Apollo has always favored me. Your star rose in your eleventh year, though its light did not grace the sky until recently. Only when it lit in the sky, did the other Centaurs know what I had seen for years. I know they follow you, my Lord, and I know you have placed your Mark upon them." He gazed beseechingly at Harry. "I wish to join them again, my Lord. I wish to follow you as they do."

Harry considered this request. He knew only the basic structures of Centaur society; he did not know if it was possible for Firenze to return to the fold once he had been cast out of the herd. Yet, Firenze was loyal – he had proven that much. If the other Centaurs had a problem with it, he would deal with that later.

"It shall be done as you ask."

Heat lightning streaked the sky, and Harry touched his fingers to Firenze's neck, the junction between his collarbones. The Centaur hissed as lightning bubbled under Harry's fingertips, and his Mark appeared blue against the skin.

"Welcome, my Fury," Harry murmured.


	7. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six: The Vanishing Cabinet_

Draco was not waiting for Harry in the Chamber of Wisdom or in the Slytherin Common Room when Harry finally managed to get away from the Gryffindor dorms. In fact, Draco wasn't waiting for him at all.

"You weren't supposed to see that," Draco muttered, when the door to his room opened and closed soundlessly, as if no one had entered at all.

"Obviously," Harry retorted as he let the invisibility cloak fall to the floor. "What was that about?"

"Snape and I had a disagreement. That's all."

"That's not what it sounded like to me." Harry crossed to the bed on which Draco was sprawled. "It sounded much more important than that to me."

"Snape has a way of making little things seem more important than they are."

Harry sighed as he nudged Draco over to slide into bed next to him. "Snape openly spoke of an Unbreakable Vow in the same sentence that he talked about protecting you. That is not normal Snape behavior. Though," Harry's voice took on a thoughtful tone, "nothing that man does could be called normal."

Draco snorted into the pillow.

Harry sighed as silence stretched between them. "Charybdis, tell me what's going on."

"I can't."

The words were muffled into the pillow, but Harry caught them all the same. "And why not?"

"I can't tell you that either."

"Seems there's an awful lot you can't speak about today." Harry's fingers slowly crept along Draco's back, and the Malfoy heir half-heartedly pushed them away. Instead, Harry entwined his fingers with Draco's own, raising the hand to his lips.

Draco shuddered as Harry's lips caressed his fingertips, each one in turn before moving to kiss his palm. "Harry-"

"What?"

"You're waiting for me to answer. Don't."

"Alright."

There was more silence as Harry slowly worked his way down the inner side of Draco's arm, before returning to the black mark that shown against alabaster skin. Draco shivered as Harry's tongue traced the black snake's path.

Slowly, Harry turned Draco over onto his back and looked at him. The slight tingling that came with his adjusted vision burned just beneath his eyelids. He held back a hiss at what he saw.

He remembered the grey band around Draco's throat, but he had not seen the other bands that also clung to Draco's skin. From the black mark, dark vines of magic coursed over Draco, growing from black to pale grey the farther from the source they got.

Alabaster skin broken by magical bonds that held Draco closer to the Dark Lord than he'd ever been to Harry.

Draco's eyes narrowed at the look on Harry's face as Harry gazed down at him. He'd just become used to the strange bird-like eyes, yet the look Harry wore was foreign to his face.

"What do you see?" he whispered.

One of Harry's fingers began to trace an invisible trail over Draco's chest. "I see the bindings of Voldemort's magic on you. When you say that you cannot speak of something… you mean that, don't you?"

Draco nodded. Jealousy - that was the look Harry wore. It looked strange on Harry's features.

"Can you show me?"

Draco paused for a moment to think. Yes, he actually thought he could. There had been nothing about _showing_ another of the Dark Lord's followers the Cabinet, just the distinct order that he could _tell_ no one. He nodded, and blinked as a shirt was thrown at him.

"Then get dressed. I want to know what is going on."

* * *

The room was just as messy as it had always been as Draco pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement. Harry entered after him, looking around in amazement at the clutter. 

"What is this place?"

"I don't know," Draco shrugged. "A storeroom for old junk, maybe?"

"So what are you doing in here?"

Draco led Harry through the clutter wordlessly and pointed at a cloth-covered thing at the back of the room. Following where he pointed, Harry walked over to it and pulled the cloth off. He blinked in surprise.

"I've seen this before."

"What?"

"This cabinet. I've seen it before… though I wonder what anyone at Hogwarts was doing buying it. It isn't yours, is it?"

"No. It belongs to Hogwarts, as far as I know. Its twin is still at Borgin and Burkes."

"Are they connected? One could enter from Knockturn Alley and come here, I assume?"

Draco said nothing, so Harry assumed he was correct.

"So why hasn't Voldemort used it already?"

"It's broken."

"So he wants you to fix it." Harry stepped partway into the cabinet, "I don't see anything obviously broken though. Do you know what's wrong with it?"

Draco shook his head. "No, that's why it's taking so long. It's bloody trial and error."

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought as he stepped back out of the cabinet and closed the door. "So why is Snape up in arms? It doesn't seem like _that_ dangerous of a project."

"There's a high price to pay if I fail." The smile Draco attempted failed, and Harry frowned.

"I doubt you can tell me what that is."

Draco shook his head.

"I assume you cannot ask for help either."

Draco nodded.

"Very well. We'll just make sure you have all the time you need to finish it."

* * *

The darkness of the Forbidden Forest was comforting as Harry maneuvered its paths with practiced ease. Covering for Draco would be easy – he would just continue to be as obsessed as he already was with 'finding out what Malfoy was up to' in front of Ron and Hermione. The more obsessed he was, the more they would assume he was just over-reacting. 

But, it was just one more problem to add to his list.

The heavy sound of hoofs on the ground brought a smile to Harry's lips as Magorian appeared from the brush of the forest.

"Is something wrong, my Lord?"

"I am unsure," Harry leaned against a tree as he stared up at the stars visible through the leafy canopy of the forest. "But I did have something to ask you about."

"What is it, my Lord?"

"When one has been cast out of the fold, what must be done for him to return?"

"You speak of Firenze?"

"Yes."

Magorian's gaze, too, drifted upwards, and he thought for a moment. "For one cast out of the fold, there should be no return. To be cast out is to commit a crime for which there is no forgiveness. But, Firenze was cast out because he associated too much with your kind; specifically with you, my Lord. Perhaps he knew more than we did, perhaps he could see more and saw how great you would become. Perhaps the stars showed him a future they hid from us until you came to speak to us – thinking of how he had helped you in the past, I believe."

Harry nodded. It was Firenze who had shown him how much of an asset Centaurs could be. In some sense, it was Firenze who had caused him to extend his arm to the Centaur herd.

"Should he become a Fury as well, then we will accept him back, my Lord."

Harry nodded. "Good. I would not want to leave him behind when the war begins."

"War is coming," Magorian agreed. "Mars sits dormant on the horizon."


	8. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven: Slip of the Serpent's Tongue_

Harry's dulcet, yet dull, words continued with the prompt of the Wizengamot, and he began to talk about Christmas break. Hermione's gaze drifted over to Ron, who seemed to sink lower and lower in his chair as Harry spoke of "useless baubles" as Christmas gifts, of bribery by the Minister of Magic, and of wondering how Draco was. They dared not write back and forth during their separation, seeing as Harry was surrounded by the Order of the Phoenix.

His words maintained their same dull and lifeless qualities, but his eyes almost glowed with life as he recounted his return to Hogwarts - his return to his Furies and to Draco. He spoke of the meetings that Dumbledore had arranged and of what he had seen inside Dumbledore's Pensieve – the memories of Tom Riddle's life. It did not surprise Hermione to learn that he had lied to them about those, too.

"Ron and Hermione asked me what had happened during these meetings," Harry stated. "I knew that I had to stay close to the truth, in case they ever learned anything on their own, and began to suspect me. I did not mean to tell them of the Horcruxes upfront – but I did. It was a slip of the tongue. I berated myself for it afterwards, but then decided that it did not matter whether they knew of the Horcruxes or not. After all, even if they did have some significance to Voldemort, they were of no importance to me. I decided it was safe after all, and not to modify their memories of the occasion. They already knew the changed memories, so if they wished to find the Horcruxes after I betrayed them, for any reason, they would have no idea where to look."

* * *

"_This is risky, chick, too risky. You would be safer in the Chamber._" 

Harry shook his head and waved off his owl's concerns. "_What I want to do cannot be contained in the Chamber. The Forbidden Forest will have to be safe enough."_

He could feel Hedwig's disapproving gaze, but she knew not to bother telling him of the risks he took by exercising his innate magic outside of the Chamber of Wisdom. One wrong move and Dumbledore would become suspicious.

But he continued on, heedless of the risks. It wasn't as if he was choosing to do this on his own. No, he had a different reason. The magic wanted out. He was furious with himself for having spoken to Ron and Hermione, perhaps telling them much more than he should have. It meant he might have to get rid of them earlier than he'd planned to. Not that he was particularly angry about that, but it was wasted time and energy. He didn't need any more complications.

The magic agreed with him, and it wanted out. It wanted to be used. It wanted to fix what he perceived as a problem. If he tried to keep it in much longer, it would eventually spark out of his control – most likely at some _very_ inopportune time. He had to prevent that – no matter the risk.

He did not go to the area of the Forest which the Centaurs called their home; he needed solitude and a large area with which could work. He was deep in the Forest, farther than he'd ever gone, when he finally allowed that he had gone far enough.

The first raindrop on his skin caused him to start in surprise. The night sky had been clear a moment ago, but was now clouded over. Strange. Oh well, it didn't mattered; rain would not deter him from what he had come to do.

Carefully, he removed his glasses and placed them in a pocket, blinking as his eyes adjusted to their owl-like form. Heat sizzled between his fingers of its own accord. He had cut it close, he admitted; he should have done this sooner.

He breathed in deeply, calling to mind all that the world perceived Harry Potter to be. He exhaled, then stripped that away from himself, and let it flow out as if it had never been.

And Scylla attacked.

The rain pelted down harder, dousing the small fires that lit wherever the lightning struck. The smell of smoke mingled with the earthy smell of rain, but Scylla ignored it.

He'd been careless. He had told Ron and Hermione potentially useful information. But there was a deep web of lies that blocked them from seeing how useful it truly was. Only when they stripped that away could they know its importance. And even if they did, would they not suspect that this, too, was a lie?

Perhaps. In any event, he would notice if they reached that point. And, if they did manage to reach that point before the point he chose to reveal himself, he would get rid of them. It would not be what Voldemort wished; it would probably cause more than a few problems. And he would have to make sure to get Draco out of Hogwarts before that - before he killed them, before he was revealed. But he would have to make it work.

There was a huge crack as a tree – larger around than Harry was – began to fall, a victim of a rather large bolt of lightning from Harry's slightly smoking fingertips.

Draco. There was another problem. Something was troubling him, something more than the cabinet. True, he could not ask for help, even from Harry, but that would not cause the underlying current of fear that grew stronger with each passing day. There was something else going on, something which Draco wouldn't, or couldn't, tell him.

It was infuriating. How was he supposed to fix what he did not know was broken? It wasn't that he couldn't drag it out of Draco, inch by inch, and then find out what was going on, but he didn't want to do that.

He shouldn't _have_ to do that. Not to Draco. Not ever to Draco.

But there was no sudden inspiration as there had been when he worked over his failure with Ron and Hermione. There was no spark of insight, no flash of wisdom on how to handle it. There was only helplessness.

And Scylla hated being helpless. He screamed, lightning spreading out from his body. For that instant, the small clearing he'd made seemed brighter than day, more luminous than light, and yet, still, all he could do was resolve to ask Draco _again_ what was bothering him. Harry didn't doubt Draco would wave off his concern as he'd done over and over.

"_You have come a long way in a very short time, chick."_

Harry leaned against the charred bark of the closest tree. "_Why does it not feel that way?"_

_"Because your heart is heavy with other burdens - it clouds how accomplished you have become with your birthright."_

_"Really."_

_"Do not take that tone with me, chick. The lightning comes to your call without you even needing to beckon it now. You have crossed the boundary that has kept wizards from reaching their full potential for centuries. Your magic has become one with you; it is no longer a separate entity within you. You have advanced beyond what even I thought you could in this short period of time."_

_"I guess heartache is good for something, then," _Harry muttered.

* * *

He seemed to only just have fallen asleep when Ron was shaking him awake, protesting very loudly about how the trip into Hogsmeade had been canceled. 

"It was on my birthday!" Harry heard through the fog of sleep that he desperately wanted to sink back into. "I was looking forward to that!"

Harry realized that the canceling of the trip was probably because of the freak rainstorm the night before. That would make the loudly protesting Ron, who wouldn't let him sleep, his fault. Bloody hell. He definitely should have worked off that pent-up magic earlier.

"Here, have a present," he muttered, a hand falling to where he'd tucked it beneath his bed. It had been strange shopping for a present for a person that you really didn't want to give a present to, but he figured he'd done a good enough job. He tossed the present onto Ron's bed, next to the small pile already there.

"Cheers," said Ron as he moved away from Harry and back to his own bed. Harry muttered something unintelligible into his pillow as he – sorrowfully – bid farewell to any sleep that he had been hoping to get. He fished the Marauder's Map out from his trunk. He had resolved to try and find out what was really bothering Draco today.

"Nice one, Harry!" said Ron enthusiastically, waving the new pair of Quidditch Keeper's gloves Harry had just given him.

"No problem," Harry replied absentmindedly, as he searched for Draco. Wouldn't Draco have been asleep right now? But there was no sign of him in the Slytherin dormitory. "I don't think he's in his bed…" Harry mumbled.

Ron didn't hear over the sounds of unwrapping presents. "Seriously good haul this year!" he announced.

He went on to talk about coming of age next year, as well, but Harry didn't pay much attention. Where was Draco? He wasn't eating breakfast in the Great Hall, he wasn't in any of the bathrooms or in the hospital wing…

"Want one?" Ron held out a box of Chocolate Cauldrons.

"No thanks," Harry muttered. "Malfoy's gone again!"

Ron shrugged it off, as he and Hermione had been doing every time Harry commented about Draco. "Can't have done," he said, stuffing a second Caldron into his mouth. "Come on, let's get some breakfast."

It would be more wasted time; Harry could get breakfast after he talked to Draco, but he cleared the map and hid it away again. Ignoring Ron, Harry got ready to go to breakfast, and was halfway to the dormitory door when he realized that Ron had not moved. He turned back and saw Ron, leaning against his bedpost, staring out of the window with a strange look on his face.

"Ron? Breakfast?" Of course, if Ron didn't want to go to breakfast, Harry didn't care. He would just go looking for Draco. He was probably in the Room of Requirement.

"I'm not hungry."

That was annoying. Hadn't _Ron _been the one who suggested going to breakfast? "I thought you just said-?"

"Well, all right. I'll come down with you," sighed Ron. "But I don't want to eat."

Harry glared at Ron in suspicion. "It's because you ate half the box of Chocolate Caldrons, isn't it?"

"It's not that," Ron sighed again. "You… you wouldn't understand."

"Fair enough," Harry shrugged. If Ron didn't want to explain, he certainly didn't want to wait around and ask about it. He turned back to the door.

"Harry!" said Ron suddenly.

"What?"

"Harry, I can't stand it!"

Harry fought back a number of biting retorts. "You can't stand what?" Though, he had to admit, there was something off about Ron. He was now rather pale, and looked almost as thought he was going to be sick.

"I can't stop thinking of her!"

Harry gaped at him. He was not going to have to listen to this, was he? He'd be damned if he stayed around while Ron went on about his love life. "Why does that stop you from having breakfast?"

"I don't think she knows I exist," said Ron with a desperate gesture.

Harry's thoughts screeched to a halt. Hadn't Ron been snogging Lavender and causing Hermione to turn all shades of jealous colors? She would definitely know that he existed! "Who are you talking about?" he asked warily.

"Romilda Vane," Ron said softly, and his whole face seemed to illuminate as he said it.

Harry blinked at him and stared. "This is a joke, right? You're joking." He fervently hoped Ron was. If Ron started switching off girls, Hermione would be even harder to deal with!

"I think… Harry, I think I love her."

"Say that again with a straight face," Harry demanded. Something was wrong here. Something was definitely wrong.

"I love her," repeated Ron breathlessly.

Harry ignored him as he went on to describe Romilda in the flowery terms most often associated with a sonnet. "This is really funny and everything," Harry started, an idea of what might be wrong forming in his mind, "but joke's over, all right? Drop it."

He watched something in Ron's eyes snap, and rage take over his face. When Ron jumped him, he dodged, nearly hitting Neville's bedpost in the process.

"You insulted her, Harry! You said it was a joke!" Ron shouted.

"Ron, you've been drugged," Harry explained, not bothering to go into the details of where he suspected those Chocolate Cauldrons came from. "Romilda spiked the Chocolate Cauldrons with love potion."

But only one word seemed to have registered with Ron. "Romilda? Did you say Romilda? Harry – do you know her? Can you introduce me?"

Harry stared at Ron. This was going to be annoying. Too bad he couldn't just let it go. Harry Potter wouldn't have walked away. Harry Potter would have been all kinds of frantic over his friend's behavior, and taken him to get the potion treated. More wasted time. He would just have to search for Draco later.

"Yeah, I'll introduce you," Harry lied. "She'll be in Slughorn's office."

"Why will she be there?" Ron asked anxiously as he followed after Harry.

"Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him," Harry replied easily.

"Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?" said Ron eagerly.

"Great idea."

Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole, and Harry nearly groaned when he saw her.

"You're late, Won-Won!" she pouted. "I've got you a birthday-"

"Leave me alone," said Ron impatiently. "Harry's going to introduce me to Romilda Vane."

Oh, make it all Harry's fault, Harry griped mentally as Ron pushed past Lavender, and he followed after him.

* * *

Slughorn answered his door at the first knock, wearing a green velvet dressing gown and matching nightcap, and looking rather bleary-eyed. 

"Harry," he mumbled. "This is very early for a call… I generally sleep late on a Saturday…"

"Professor, I'm really sorry to disturb you," Harry said as quietly as possible as Ron stood on tiptoe, attempting to see past Slughorn into the office, "but my friend Ron swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn't make him an antidote, could you?" Harry wrapped as much of the 'Harry Potter' persona around him as he could as he continued. "I would take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we're not supposed to have anything from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and, you know… awkward questions…"

"I can't see her, Harry – is he hiding her?" Ron moaned.

Slughorn eyed Ron with professional interest. "Was this potion within date? They can strengthen, you know, the longer they're kept."

Harry helped Slughorn maneuver Ron into the office, explaining to Ron that Romilda hadn't gotten there yet.

"How do I look?" Ron asked fervently, as Slughorn finished the antidote.

"Very handsome," said Slughorn smoothly, handing Ron a glass of clear liquid. "Now drink that up, it's a tonic for the nerves; keep you calm when she arrives, you know."

Ron gulped it eagerly.

Harry and Slughorn watched him. For a moment, Ron beamed at them. Then, very slowly, his grin sagged and vanished, only to be replaced by an expression of utmost horror.

Harry grinned in relief; now that this was over, he could go look for Draco. "Thanks a lot, Professor." Harry tried in vain to think of a quick way away from the office and Ron as Slughorn chortled on about getting Ron a 'pick-me-up'. He couldn't come up with anything, though; he'd have to resign himself to looking for Draco later.

"There you are, then," said Slughorn, who handed Ron and Harry a glass of mead each before raising his own. "Well, a happy birthday, Ralph-"

"Ron-" corrected Harry halfheartedly.

Ron didn't appear to have been listening, and had already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed.

Harry blinked, a trickle of lightning passing from elbow to wrist underneath his robes. Something was wrong. He looked over at Ron.

"Ron!"

Ron had dropped his glass; he half-rose from his chair, and then crumpled, his extremities jerking uncontrollably. Foam was dribbling from his mouth, and his eyes were bulging from their sockets.

"Do something!" Harry bellowed at Slughorn. Ron was poisoned, and he certainly did not want to take the credit for saving him! That would mean a whole lot more time wasted.

"What – but – " spluttered Slughorn.

Harry glared at the man, who was obviously not going to do anything, and leapt towards Slughorn's open potions kit. He raided through the kit until he found what he was looking for: the shriveled kidney-like stone.

Returning to Ron's side, he wrenched his jaw open and thrust the bezoar into his mouth. Ron gave a great shudder, a rattling gasp, and his body became limp and still.

* * *

By the time Harry managed to estrange himself from the horde of Weasleys that seemed to descend from nowhere upon Ron's sleeping form in the hospital, it was far too late in the day to do much of anything. Harry's foul mood only worsened when Draco was not waiting for him in the Chamber of Wisdom. Draco had been needing more sleep recently, another sign of some hidden distress. 

Hedwig hardly flinched when a priceless statue was made sacrifice to Harry's mood. "_More troubles, chick?"_

Harry batted away her concern, falling into the nearest chair with a sigh. "Sometimes I feel more like his nursemaid than his lover." A spark flashed in front of Harry's owl eyes, and he shot back to his feet. A memory of the summer which he'd pushed back as irrelevant, before he'd become Voldemort's heir – of a house, and a house-elf.

He was halfway to the door back to the Owlery, when Hedwig's soft cooing stopped him. "_Chick, before you rush off, you do have another letter. He inquires about your followers. He chides you for using lowly Centaurs._" The slight sniff in her voice displaying the obvious disapproval she held for _that_ assessment.

Harry frowned. "I'll figure something out. Centaurs are rather conspicuous," he conceded. "Though I wouldn't call them 'lowly'."

"_You will gain more followers?_"

"As I said, I'll figure something out to pacify him. But right now I'm headed for the kitchens."

Hedwig shook her head as Harry left in a hurry. "_Just like a fledgling in spring," _she cooed, amused. "_Thinking with his heart instead of with his head."_

**

* * *

**

Harry congratulated himself on his stroke of genius as he hurriedly made his way to the kitchens. He'd forgotten all about Kreacher – purposefully, at the time. The old house-elf would finally be good for something. He could watch Draco when Harry couldn't. And, by asking him in front of the other house-elves, it ensured that his actions would be told to Dumbledore. Though Dumbledore would stay blind as to exactly why he wanted Draco watched.

Just outside of the portrait door to the kitchens, Harry whispered, "Kreacher?"

There was a very loud crack, and the sounds of scuffling and squeaks filled the silent hallway. Harry watched in amusement at the scene which presented itself to him.

Two house-elves were rolling around before him, one wearing a shrunken maroon jumper and several woolen hats; the other, a filthy old rag strung over his hips like a loincloth.

"Kreacher will not insult Harry Potter in front of Dobby, no he won't, or Dobby will shut Kreacher's mouth for him!" cried Dobby in a high pitched voice.

While Harry thought this was a marvelous idea, it wouldn't do for anything to get back to Dumbledore that he was acting out of character.

"Kreacher will say what he likes about his master, oh yes, and what a master he is, filthy friend of Mudbloods, oh, what would poor Kreacher's mistress say-"

Exactly what Kreacher's mistress would have said Harry did not find out, for at that moment Dobby sank his knobby little fist into Kreacher's mouth and knocked out half of his teeth.

Harry chose that moment to pull them apart, though they continued to try and kick and punch each other. He thought for a moment about refining Kreacher's now obsolete view of him, but decided it would be a bad idea.

"Right – I'm forbidding you to fight each other! Well, Kreacher, you're forbidden to fight Dobby. Dobby, I know I'm not allowed to give you orders –"

"Dobby is a free house-elf and he can obey anyone he likes, and Dobby will do whatever Harry Potter wants him to do!" said Dobby, tears now streaming down his shriveled little face onto his jumper.

"Okay then," said Harry as he slowly released the two – prepared to split them apart again if need be. But they fell to the floor and did not continue fighting.

"Master called me?" croaked Kreacher, sinking into a bow even as he gave Harry a look that plainly wished him a painful death.

Harry resisted the urge to rearrange Kreacher's face permanently as he responded. "Yeah, I did. I've got a job for you."

"Kreacher will do whatever Master wants," said Kreacher, sinking so low that his lips almost touched his gnarled toes. "Because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher is ashamed to have such a master, yes-"

"Dobby will do it, Harry Potter!" squeaked Dobby, his tennis-ball-sized eyes still swimming in tears. "Dobby would be honored to help Harry Potter!"

That could be helpful, Harry thought. "Come to think of it, it would be good to have both of you," he said. "Okay then… I want you to tail Draco Malfoy. I want to know where he's going, who he's meeting, and what he's doing. I want you to follow him around the clock. There's something wrong with him, and I want to know what it is."

"But Dobby already knows!" Dobby crowed with excitement. "It is an old secret, but Dobby no longer has to keep those secrets! Dobby will tell Harry Potter! It is because Dobby's old family has Vampire blood!"

How to respond to that? Harry allowed a greedy gleam to enter his eyes. Imagine what 'the Boy-Who-Lived' would do with that kind of slander against one of the most annoying thorns in his side? "That wasn't what I meant – but are you _sure_? Are you positive that's true?"

Dobby nodded eagerly. "Dobby swears it, Harry Potter! And Dobby swears he shall follow Draco Malfoy at all times! And if Dobby does it wrong, Dobby will throw himself off the topmost tower, Harry Potter!"

"There won't be any need for that," Harry said, though he stored that bit away as a potential way to get rid of Dobby if he ever stopped being useful.

"Master wants me to follow the youngest of the Malfoys?" croaked Kreacher. "Master wants me to spy upon the pure-blooded great-nephew of my old mistress?"

"That's the one," said Harry. "And you're forbidden to tip him off, Kreacher, or to show him what you're up to, or to talk to him at all, or to write him messages or… or to contact him in any way. Got it?"

He would find out what was wrong with Draco, and then confront Draco about it. There was no need to explain how he came to the conclusions he did unless Draco asked.

He could see Kreacher struggling to find a loophole in the instructions. After a moment or two, and to Harry's great satisfaction, Kreacher bowed deeply again and said, with bitter resentment, "Master thinks of everything, and Kreacher must obey him even though Kreacher would much rather be the servant of the Malfoy boy, oh yes…"

Harry resisted the urge to arrange just that and let Kreacher eat his words when he realized just how horrible Draco could really be. "That's settled, then. I'll want regular reports, but make sure I'm not with anyone – anyone at all – when you turn up. And don't tell anyone what you're doing. Just stick to Malfoy like a couple of wart plasters."

* * *

As Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, something caused him to slow his footsteps just outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. Dobby's words reeled in his mind, and he frowned as he thought, staring at the shadow cast by his figure on the Fat Lady's portrait. 

"_It is because Dobby's old family has Vampire blood."_

Centaurs were conspicuous, loyal to a fault and strong, but they did indeed stand out. Harry needed some more insidious followers, someone to stand in the shadows cast by the Centaurs and remain unseen. A left hand to his right; Sinistra to Dextra (lit. left/sinister to right).

Harry's shadow raised both his hands, first the right, and then the left. It held the two out to the side like a balance, and tilted them, first the left up, than the right, and back – finally stopping with both equal.

"Are you going to say the password, dear?" the Fat Lady asked sleepily.

Harry muttered it, and climbed through the portrait hole in a daze, wondering how hard it would be to locate the scattered Vampire council.

* * *

Harry woke long before dawn, adrenaline and nerves making it almost impossible to sleep. Hedwig was just nodding off when Harry entered the Owlery, and she flew to his outstretched arm when he called her. 

"_What is it, chick?"_

_"I need you to go to Magorian. Ask him if it is possible for one or two of his scouts to locate the Elder of the Vampire council. If he says it is possible, have him send them as envoys to the Vampires."_

_"You wish to add Vampires to your followers? They will not be easy to sway."_

_"I do not think it will be so hard."_


	9. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight: Sectumsempra_

"Kreacher and Dobby couldn't tell me anything more than I already knew. Draco said nothing to anyone about what was bothering him, though even the house-elves could see something was wrong with him. He didn't do anything that could have given away what it was either."

Hermione listened as the Wizengamot steered Harry on to the next event in his narration. She already knew what it was: the use of the Felix Felicis to regain Slughorn's memory for Dumbledore. It occurred to her that she could guess what Harry was going to say. How he didn't want to help Dumbledore, but he had to, or else it would be suspicious.

It was surprising that Harry hadn't lied to them about what had happened when he got the memory, but Harry explained that he hadn't needed to. They already knew about the Felix Felicis, and it was a better strategy to intermingle his lies with the truth when trying to distract them from his true purpose.

Hermione had to admit that it was a strategy that had worked well.x

"Still, it bothered me that they were too close to finding the truth. One thread out of place, and the web would unweave, and I couldn't have that," Harry explained in a monotone, and Hermione gulped as she began to realize what he was talking about. "I had to add another layer to my web; another distraction for them to see."

"He's talking about Ginny," Hermione murmured, feeling sick.

"It came to me when Hermione told me that Ginny and Dean had split up. I debated it all day, during Charms class, and when Ron was mentioning that we should make more Felix Felicis to have a stock of it. Even as I found 'Sectumsempra_'_ written in my potions book while looking up the Felix Felicis recipe, I was thinking about it. I didn't particularly want to use Ginny as that screen – it would be a hassle to appear to like her. But it would be the most effective cover. I decided that I would need to think more on it later, because finding out what was wrong with Draco took priority."

* * *

Harry tore the letter he'd just read in two, letting the pieces fall to the floor of the Chamber of Wisdom. Voldemort was telling him nothing. There _was_ something other than that plan – whatever it was – which involved the Cabinet, but Voldemort would say nothing about either plan. Should not he know? Should not Voldemort trust his heir enough- 

Harry stopped, his gaze returning to the letter. That was it, wasn't it? Voldemort _didn't _trust him, even if he'd been named his heir. There was some other hurdle he hadn't yet jumped; some other trial he hadn't yet faced. And only when he had passed that test would he know the information he sought.

Harry growled, lightning flashing around his fingertips. How was he supposed to protect Draco if he didn't know what he was protecting Draco _from_?! There was _something_ wrong, both Draco _and_ Voldemort's behavior confirmed it…

Wait…

Draco, Harry realized with a shudder. That was it! He's using Draco to test me, to make sure I don't sway from the darkness back to the light. And because he can't tell me, it's tearing Draco apart to provoke me like this. That is what is ailing Draco. That's why Draco is acting so strangely, so secretively. He knows I wouldn't lash out against him, yet that's what Voldemort wants me to prove. He wants me to show him that I'm more loyal to him than to Draco, which of course would be a lie. But, Harry's eyes narrowed and he could feel the transition to his true eyes' shape through his magic, if that's what it takes then I'll do it. Lying is a small price to pay.

* * *

The Marauder's Map showed that Draco was in the boys' bathroom, accompanied by Moaning Myrtle. What would he be doing with Moaning Myrtle? Harry wondered as he walked, staring at the Map until he crashed into a suit of armor. 

He quickly cleared the Map and slipped into the shadows of the castle, his footsteps fading into silence as he descended one floor down to where Draco was. Soundlessly, he pushed the door open to hear Draco's words, choked by his own tears.

"I can't do it…. I can't…. It won't work… and unless I do it soon… he says he'll kill me…."

Harry fought with a flicker of rage that pooled in the pit of his heart at the blond's words. How _dare_ Voldemort threaten Draco with his life, just to force him to test Harry's loyalty? This _would_ stop, and Harry would end it here. He would not have Draco used against him, and Voldemort would know it.

With a shudder, Draco looked up to see the rage seething in owl eyes behind him, and knowledge sparked in his own. Harry knew, despite the fact that Draco had been cursed not to tell him; Harry had figured it out.

Draco wheeled around, and jumped away from the streak of lightning which pulsed from between Harry's fingers. Scylla stepped calmly away from his own curse, as if sidestepping a puddle on a rainy day, small sparks emanating from his body. Draco knew that if it came to it, Harry would use everything available to him, would hit him with all his inner magic. And, though he was strong, Draco doubted he could withstand such power. He had to force Harry to use a spell - one more easily controlled than his inner magic.

The lightning pooled around Harry's features as Draco, his face contorted, cried, "Cruci-"

Something snapped in Harry's face, and his wand was finally brought upward as he screamed: "_SECTUMSEMPRA!_"

Even as the blood poured from Draco's face and chest, he smiled slightly at Harry, staggering back and falling to the floor. He didn't move, his wand falling from limp fingers.

Harry blinked, watching the soft grey lines of Voldemort's magic slip away from Draco's body. He nearly sighed in relief before he was struck with a horrifying thought; there were only two reasons why Voldemort's magic would have lost its hold on Draco: if he was finally satisfied with Harry's loyalty, or if Draco himself was dead.

"No-" Harry gasped as he scrambled towards Draco. Draco couldn't die! He had to live through this! Harry had used his wand in hopes that it wouldn't be such a powerful spell!

He barely heard Myrtle shrieking "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!" as he cradled the broken body to his chest, hoping vainly that Draco would do something to show he was still living.

The door banged open behind Harry, and Draco was roughly removed from his arms. Harry blinked on reflex, losing the owl-like eyes as Snape worked on healing the cuts. His mental shields slammed up around his mind as he remembered Draco's words to him. They couldn't trust Snape, even if Voldemort did, until the true battle finally started, and they could see where Snape's loyalty truly lay. Snape could not know of his connection to Voldemort before any of the other Death Eaters did.

Harry let his relief show through as Snape helped Draco to the Hospital Wing, remaining at the same spot he'd been when Snape had entered. Draco would live. He would now somehow have to deceive Snape, but Draco would live. And that would be worth whatever effort he had to exert now. He looked up as Snape re-entered the bathroom, molding his shields to look like the half-created boundaries that the Harry Potter that Snape knew would use.

"Apparently I underestimated you, Potter," he said quietly. "Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?"

_Voldemort._ "I – read it somewhere." Harry almost allowed himself to smile behind his shields. He would dance around the truth, allow Snape to have his suspicions about his Potions book, even accept the detentions Snape was sure to give out. It wouldn't matter in the long run. He would go to visit Draco that night, and he would remove Draco's Dark Mark himself if he had to and replace it with his own.

* * *

Harry endured Hermione's lecture, annoyance building in his mind. They were taking away time he could have been spending with his Furies, planning what was to be done. The Centaurs would certainly know how to remove the blood magic that Salazar had left his descendant, and, if they did not know, then Hedwig would. And the Gryffindors were only slowing the process down with their arguing and lecturing. 

He vaguely heard Ginny speak in his defense and begin arguing with Hermione. He added a mental note that he might want to further this blind following of Ginny's. It could be useful for distracting the Gryffindors. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It would keep everyone removed from his true affair with Draco. And, best of all, it would stop Hermione's long lectures, if he could stomach having Ginny hanging off him while she argued with Hermione.

Yes, Harry was feeling decidedly light-hearted as he planned his machinations while the other Gryffindors finished up their argument, with Ginny and Hermione glaring off in different directions, for once fighting with each other. This would all fall into place with delightful ease.

* * *

The Centaur scouts had returned with good news. The Vampires were interested, and were sending a representative to speak with him. He would be waiting for Harry at a location in the Forbidden Forest he would appoint in three days. 

"What do you know of blood bonds, Magorian?" Harry mused, leaning back against a tree. "Most specifically, do you know how an outsider to the bond could remove it?"

"My Lord seeks to remove a Dark Mark," Magorian mumbled, his eyes rising skyward. "This power is that of Apollo, the sun, a very hard thing to mold, even harder to break; the power of that god who sits on his python skin atop his throne and whom only can be fooled by night. Yet, the Salazar descendant does not allow himself to be cloaked by night's embrace. He worships Luna as Sol and Sol as Luna. You must win over Luna's other forms, Diana and Hecate. From their shrouds, most particularly the dark side of the moon, of Hecate, you will be able to bend the bond of Sol. Look to your father, as well, my Lord, son of Jupiter. His power is more than that of Sol and Luna combined. But, do what you will do quickly. Soon, Jupiter will fade from the morning sky, and Mars will take his place. And, if the Mark is not yours by the coming of the war god, then it will never be. Mars is getting brighter; he tires of his long sleep, and longs for battle. He petitions Hades to open wide the doors of the Underworld, and Pluto will soon be swayed."

"And whose favor does the war god shine upon?" Harry asked, his own eyes rising to the stars.

"That remains to be seen. When he appears brightest in the sky, we will know, and I shall hasten to tell you, my Lord. Pluto, your sire, will favor you. Jupiter, your father, would favor you, but he shall be overshadowed by Mars. Diana may favor you, because Sol will not, but even this remains uncertain by these stars."

Harry nodded. "Very well. I will go speak with Draco. I will return in three days when the Vampire representative is here. Do tell me what transpires in the heavens when I return."

The Centaur leader bowed as his Lord silently disappeared into the shadows. He was truly a Lord worth serving, this boy who could understand the words of those who watched the stars. The Vampires would see what he had to offer them, Magorian was sure of it. Scylla would have no difficulty in winning their loyalty.

* * *

Draco was faking sleep when Harry entered the Hospital Wing, and his eyes shot open when Harry traced the scar that he had created upon Draco's neck. 

"My poor Charybdis, I should have aimed more precisely," Harry crooned as he gathered Draco's still-weak form into his arms.

"It's fine. You figured it out; that's all that matters."

"I should have realized it sooner. I could see the vines of his magic upon you, but I always assumed it was just the Dark Mark. I should have suspected it was something more obtrusive than the Mark."

"But you did suspect-"

"Too late."

"It wasn't too late. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Harry fought down the growl that threatened to explode from his mouth. "He should have never threatened you with your life. I won't allow that to happen ever again."

"I wear the Dark Mark, Scylla. Life-threatening is part of its nature."

Harry's eyes narrowed in the darkened room. That would soon be changed; he would make sure of it.

He held Draco until the Malfoy heir had drifted off into true slumber, before carefully disentangling their bodies and crossing to the window. A pale wash of moonlight fell through its panes, and he opened it to the night air.

There was a soft rustle of wings as Hedwig alighted upon his shoulder, responding to his silent call.

_"I see the Heir of Slytherin has finally overstepped his bounds," _she cooed.

_"Yes. I want to remove the Dark Mark from him."_ Harry paused before changing his statement. _"I will remove the Dark Mark from him."_

_"Of course you will,"_ his owl agreed, and, far over the fields that surrounded Hogwarts, thunder crashed against the sky. _"And I will watch over you as you do so."_

Harry walked back to the bed, his eyes shifting to their now more natural form. He could see the pale threads of magic that circled the Dark Mark on Draco's left arm.

Heat lightning raced across the sky, and a small trickle of blue static trickled down from his scar like blood. Reaching out, he held Draco's arm and encircled the Mark with his fingertips. His own blue threads flowed down his fingers, chasing the gray threads already there. They clashed, the blue entwining with the gray and stretching out over Draco's skin, like spider threads tossed to the wind.

Draco hissed in his sleep, as the small grey threads were lifted off his skin, one by one, and replaced by blue ones. And he screamed as the very image of the Dark Mark disappeared, only to be replaced by Scylla's Mark, the image of the lightning bold entwined with feathers.

When Madam Pomfrey burst into the room to see what was wrong, Draco was back in fitful sleep, one hand gripping his forearm, as if to hide the blue marking from her.

* * *

Draco awoke the next morning to find he was holding his forearm. He remembered screaming during the night, remembered the pain, but he could not understand why. He hadn't thought that the Dark Lord could physically hurt him through the Dark Mark like that, but yet, what else could have happened? 

But, as his fingers lifted, and he looked at the skin underneath, his eyes widened, and he looked up, as if expecting Harry to be standing next to him, waiting for approval of his work. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but it was already late in the morning - Harry would be in class. His eyes trailed back down to the blue tattoo, one he had seen Harry place upon the Centaurs, of which he had been envious of them for having. But it was now his as well. He was no longer a Death Eater; he was a Fury of Hades.


	10. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine: The Last of the Furies_

Draco looked up as the door opened and closed soundlessly. He smiled at the door; Harry had come to visit him.

The invisibility cloak slid off Harry's form, and he held a finger up to his lips as he leaned against the door, listening for the sounds of Madam Pomfrey. After a few moments, he relaxed, and made his way to the bed, sitting down in the chair next to it, cloak pooling in his lap.

"Very daring of you to come to visit me in the middle of the day," Draco whispered.

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? I enjoy breaking rules and such," he whispered back. "Are you feeling any adverse effects from last night?"

Draco shook his head. "Just a bit more tired than usual, but that's probably from the curse, not the Mark."

Harry nodded. "Good."

"So have you heard anything from the Vampires yet?" Draco asked as he leaned back against the pillows.

"Yes. They're sending a representative to speak to me tomorrow night."

"You don't believe that."

"No, there is too much power assembling. They're all going to convene. Whether they will all be present at my meeting with their representative, I don't know, but all of the elders will be in the Forbidden Forest tomorrow."

"Good. That will make things go faster."

Harry nodded. "Yes. Speed is of the essence right now. Things are beginning to move faster than I foresaw."

And it was true. Dumbledore was tracking down the next Horcrux as they spoke, and he expected Harry to speak to Slughorn about them soon. Voldemort's plans to kill Dumbledore were moving, as well, even though he was being infuriatingly quiet about them. And Mars, the planet which symbolized war, was rising in the sky. The very war for the Wizarding World was approaching faster than it had been expected.

"I'll have to get back to working on the cabinet, then," Draco whispered, his voice sounding relieved to be back on his old task.

"You don't _have_ to do anything," Harry grinned, reaching over to tap the lightning bolt mark. "But, I think that we should make sure it works. It's part of the plan, so it has to be done by someone in Hogwarts."

"Don't worry, Harry, I'll get it. You just concentrate on fooling Dumbledore long enough for me to figure it out."

"Of course. Take your time."

* * *

"Well done" was the one line note which Hedwig delivered to Harry as he made his way to detention. A trickle of irritation fluttered down Harry's spine as he felt the letter char and smolder inside his clenched fist as tiny lightning bolts burned it to ashes. 

Complimented for hurting Draco. He hadn't wanted to mar Draco in any way – and even though he had, he hadn't done it for Voldemort.

What a lovely mood for starting detention with Snape – the detention he'd earned when he'd attacked Draco. The detention placed conveniently over the last Quidditch game of the year. It actually had flowed quite nicely into Harry's latest scheme – involving Ginny – and he'd been almost cheerful about it until Hedwig had brought him Voldemort's latest missive.

It was probably all for the better, he thought. It wouldn't do for Snape to see him actually enjoying detention.

"Ah, Potter," said Snape, when Harry had knocked on his door and entered the unpleasantly familiar office; it was just as dimly lit as ever, and the same slimy dead objects were suspended in colored potions around the wall. Feeling a strange sense of accomplishment, Harry realized that he could probably recognize most of them now.

Ominously, there were many cobwebbed boxes piled on a table where Harry was clearly supposed to sit; they had an aura of tedious, hard, and pointless drudgery about them.

"Mr. Filch has been looking for someone to clear out these old files," said Snape softly. "They are records of past Hogwarts wrongdoers and their punishments. Where the ink has gone faint, or the cards have suffered damage from mice, we would like you to copy out the crimes and punishments afresh and, making sure that they are in alphabetical order, replace them in the boxes. You will not use magic."

"Right, Professor," said Harry, with as much contempt as he could put into the last three syllables.

"I thought you could start," said Snape, a malicious smile on his lips, "with boxes one thousand and twelve to one thousand and fifty-six. You will find some familiar names in there, which should add interest to the task. Here, you see…"

He pulled out a card from one of the topmost boxes with a flourish and read, "'_James Potter and Sirius Black. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bertram Aubrey. Aubrey's head twice normal size. Double detention.'"_ Snape sneered. "It might be such a comfort to think that, thought they are gone, a record of their great achievements remains…"

Harry couldn't be bothered to feel anything more than mild irritation at this little display. Sure, it was his father and his godfather, but they were both dead. _Let the dead stay dead,_ he thought at Snape with a glare that he only half meant. He eased himself into the chair in front of the boxes and pulled one toward him.

It was, as he had anticipated, useless, boring work, punctuated, as Snape had clearly planned, with slightly interesting moments when he had just read his father or Sirius' name, usually coupled together in various petty misdeeds, and occasionally accompanied by those of Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. And, while he copied out their various offenses and punishments, he wondered what was going on outside, where the match would have just started… Ginny playing Seeker against Cho…

How the game ended would change his strategy for how he would place Ginny between the lies he'd told Ron and Hermione and the truth.

Harry glanced again and again at the large clock ticking on the wall. It seemed to be moving half as fast as a regular clock; perhaps Snape had bewitched it to go extra slowly? Half an hour stretched into an hour, which stretched into an hour and a half. Finally, when the clock read ten past one, Snape, who had not spoken at all since setting Harry to his task, looked up. "I think that will do," he said coldly. "Mark the place you have reached. You will continue at ten o'clock next Saturday."

"Yes, sir." Harry fervently hoped that Draco would finish the Cabinet _before_ the next time he had to do that again. He stuffed a bent card into the box at random and hurried out of the door before Snape could change his mind, racing back up the stone steps, straining his ears to hear a sound from the pitch, but all was quiet… It was all over then…

He hesitated outside the crowded Great Hall, then ran up the marble staircase; whether Gryffindor had won or lost, the team usually celebrated or commiserated in their own Common Room.

"_Quid agis?" _(lit. "what's happening?) he said to the Fat Lady, his mind going over his two plans, preparing for whichever scenario he might find inside.

Her expression was unreadable as she replied. "You'll see."

And she swung forward.

A roar of celebration erupted from the hole behind her. Harry gaped as people began to scream at the sight of him; several hands pulled him into the room.

"We won!" yelled Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. "We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!"

Harry looked around for Ginny, and spotted her running towards him. Noting the blazing look on her face as she threw her arms around him and – more importantly – that there were fifty people watching, Harry kissed her.

The common room had gone very quiet. Then several people wolf-whistled, and there was an outbreak of nervous giggling. _Perfect,_ Harry thought.

As he broke away from her, his eyes sought out Ron. For a tiny fraction of a second, they looked at each other before Ron gave a tiny jerk of the head that Harry understood to mean "_Well- if you must."_

Harry could almost feel the newest lie nestle into place over the eyes of all those around him. That had been simply too easy.

* * *

Harry slipped through the trees of the Forbidden Forest as silently as a wraith entreats upon the nightmares of children. Squinting slightly in the darkness, he could barely make out the patches of dim moonlight that shone through the trees and guided his footsteps onward through the forest. Deep in the dark recesses, a shadowed messenger awaited his arrival. 

The man, if he could be termed a man, seemed oblivious to Harry's presence as the boy slipped from the dense shrubbery into the clearing. But Harry was not fooled. The vampire's heightened senses would have heard his footsteps, as he had made an effort to make a slight sound as he entered the clearing.

"Your master has taught you well," the shadow-covered creature spoke upon the very air of the night.

"I am my own master," Harry replied in a tone just as dark, just as soothing to the ear.

"Of course you are. We would not be meeting were you not. Vampires do not take well to those of weak will."

Harry felt the creature's power stirring in the air around him, the natural allure of the vampire trying to soothe him, to make him trust the creature. He pushed such thoughts out of his mind with a distinctive shove that caused the vampire to physically recoil.

"Indeed, you have no master, Hades' bone and flesh." The vampire's voice held respect, a tone not often heard from the creatures of blood and darkness. "Why do you summon us?"

"I seek your counsel, and your aid, to change this downward spiral that our world is trapped in."

"Your world, sun dweller; not ours."

"My world," Harry scoffed at the idea. "Your world. They are the same in substance. My kind rules the mornings and the day while they fear yours and the night you bring. And that fear breeds hatred, which causes them to seek to destroy your kind."

"And you do not seek to do the same? Surprising."

Harry ignored the droll tone. "I seek to offer you that world."

"In return for what?"

"In return for exactly what I have requested. I seek the counsel of the vampires; and their aid, as well."

"You wish us to follow your step."

"I wish to allow you to live in the shadow I plan to cast upon this world."

The creature was silent for a moment. "I will bring this to my race. It is not a decision I alone can make for us. It will take time for the message to be transported to the pockets of the world in which we thrive, and even longer for us to come to an agreement. If you are patient, I will bring our answer to you."

"Do as you will, but time may not wait for you. Events are now in motion that even I cannot slow. Come to your decision quickly," Harry answered and disappeared into the darkness, his movement masked even to the vampire's senses.

One by one, shadows emerged from the gnarled roots of the trees that surrounded the clearing. One by one, the vampires who had waited in the shadows to hear what this human had to say joined their brethren in the cloud-covered moonlight.

"You heard his words for yourselves, brethren. What are your thoughts?" the vampire who had spoken with Harry asked.

One to his right rasped, "When you called us all here, Elder, we were curious as to why we all were needed to hear the warbling of a human. Now we see what you mean."

"This human has the power," another commented. "He could do what he seeks."

"Are you sure that he will keep to his promise? He is human. They are not to be trusted."

"He is not human. He has too much magic to be only human. Somewhere in his blood must flow the blood of a greater creature."

Thoughts were tossed back and forth upon the currents of the night as the vampires discussed the situation.

"Elder, why do we not offer him our aid and see how he acts?" one finally suggested. "The price he places on our services is too great a price for him not to be serious."

The oldest vampire nodded serenely. "Yes. By his actions he shall earn our loyalty or our betrayal."

* * *

Draco wore a rather petulant look when he allowed Harry to enter the Room of Requirement. 

"Ah, you've heard," Harry mumbled, crossing to where Draco leaned upon the Cabinet he was trying to fix.

"Weasley? Ginny Weasley? Have you no sense of-"

"I do have a sense of taste, Draco, hence why I'm simply using her."

"Explain."

Harry pulled a reluctant Draco into his embrace, sitting back against a desk that filled part of the cluttered space. "I needed a distraction, something for everyone else to see; a buffer between what's truth and what's not. Now those who felt threads of suspicion are removed from that truth by one more step."

"I still don't like it."

"Neither do I. I have to actually appear to dote on her."

"I can't find it in my heart to be sympathetic."

"Good. I don't need sympathy. But I do need to get the taste of her out of my mouth."

"That could be arranged."

* * *

Harry and Draco waited for the Vampires to appear, Harry waiting impassively, and Draco shifting impatiently beside him. Behind them, in a semi-circle, stood the already Marked Centaurs, the first of the Furies of Hades to be Marked. 

Harry watched as clouds began to fill the sky, a sign of his growing power. There was a scent of rain in the air, the herald of an approaching storm. He was glad that the Vampires had decided quickly that they would join him. It had taken them a week to gather together in the Forest without alerting any, even Dumbledore, to their presence. This was truly all Harry needed to test their worth; if Dumbledore had not noticed their gathering power, then they truly were strong enough to become his Furies.

The shadows began to slip from the trees, as the moon was covered over by clouds. The steady light from Draco's _Lumos_ spell was now the only light in the clearing. Fitting, Harry thought, that Draco should be the one light by which he saw.

The Vampires slipped from the shadows, one by one, to stand together on the opposite edge of the clearing.

"Fathered by Jupiter, son of Hades, we offer you our counsel and aid in return for the place you have promised us in our world," the Vampire at the front of the huddle spoke. He was the Elder, Harry mused, the very same vampie who had first spoken with him on behalf of his kind.

"I welcome your aid and your counsel, not only as your leader, but as your brother," Harry stepped toward them, extending his hand in welcome. "Those you see behind me are the Furies of Hades. As such, we are all family, united together under one cause, one blood, one flesh. Darkness courses through us all, and unites us. The King of the Dead watches over us, and is our father. Jupiter, from whom Ravenclaw descends, watches over me, and, as such, my protection shall cover you, as it does all of my Furies. Welcome home, my prodigal children of the night."

The Vampire Elder grasped Harry's hand as thunder crashed above their heads. Lightning split the night, coursing down towards the earth to strike down upon Harry. It molded around him and reflected, splitting into smaller bolts that veered towards each Vampire. Some screamed; others shrieked; and some remained silent as Harry's power coursed through them, and left as suddenly as it had come, leaving only his mark behind. It lay, as it did with the Centaurs, below the neck, between the collarbones of the Vampires: a single blue lightning bolt, haloed by blue wings.

"And, thus, we are united," Harry's words spoke into the darkened clearing, as the storm clouds began to recede, leaving only lightly falling rain.

* * *

Hedwig was waiting for Harry when he returned to the Gryffindor boys' dorm. 

_"You are growing still in your power,"_ she nodded with approval. _"Soon you will be fully aware of all you can do."_

"_I look forward to it_," Harry cooed back at her.

_"Oh yes, He wishes to see you. He realizes that you are initiating the Vampires tonight, but you must discuss something with him."_

Harry nodded, accepting the letter from Hedwig and reading the brief lines which stated all she had just told him. The letter burned in his hand as his inner magic bubbled within his hand, and he scattered the ashes on the floor before lying down on his bed and letting down his mental defenses enough for Voldemort's dreamscape to take hold.

He appeared in Voldemort's study, seated in a plush green chair opposite Voldemort himself.

"It is very late; they must have accepted you."

"They have. The Furies of Hades are now complete."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Are you not going to bring young Malfoy into your fold?"

Harry's mind reeled for a minute. Voldemort did not know that he had removed Draco's Mark. He could not sense it! How strange. Harry always could feel the threads that lead to his Furies. The Dark Mark must be very different from his own then, the difference between magic from Luna and magic from Sol shown more clearly.

"His Dark Mark must be removed first," Harry added a glare to make it more realistic. He was not sure if he truly wanted Voldemort to know of what he had done to Draco's Dark Mark yet.

"Yes," Voldemort's forked tongue drew out the 's' into a hiss. "I shall do that as soon as his mission is complete, and Dumbledore is dead."

"If you would tell me this plan, then I could make sure it occurs. Leaving me in the dark does not bode well for success," Harry pointed out in well-earned annoyance.

"Yes, this is true. Very well, I shall tell you the outline of the plan; no need to bore you with details, after all. Young Malfoy is creating a link through which those outside of Hogwarts can get in without anyone in Hogwarts, even yourself, knowing. When this is done, I will use that link to send my Death Eaters to attack Hogwarts from within. Young Malfoy himself will kill Dumbledore. That, in essence, is his true mission… his test of initiation, as it were."

"I thought his test was my loyalty," Harry snarled.

"That was your test, not his." Voldemort seemed to bask in Harry's anger. "Calm down, my Heir. I know what he means to you. I would not truly have harmed him, not damaged him in a way that could not be fixed."

Harry wasn't sure if he believed that, but it did not matter; Draco was removed from any threats now, anyway.

"So what is my role in this plan?"

Voldemort leaned forward in his chair, as if in eagerness, as he hissed, _"Weaken Dumbledore so he may be killed."_

Harry's eyes were unreadable for a minute, before gaining a small fire that had never once burned in the eyes of 'Harry Potter'. "Consider it done."

"I already do. You will not fail me, my Heir. Now, about these Vampires of yours; these new Furies."

"I will need to prepare a resting place for them."

"Yes. How do you plan to do such?"

"There is a graveyard around here, is there not?" Harry's eyes laughed as they locked with Voldemort's.

"Of course there is; you have already seen it." Voldemort's tone was equally amused.

"I want to rip it up, graves and all, and give them that land on which to rest. Dirt from their homelands will have to be imported, as well as their coffins, and this must all be done slowly, so as not to alert anyone before the time is right."

"Yes. Who would you have dig these graves?"

"Oh, the muggles in the area," Harry replied flippantly. "Put them all under the Imperius, and have them do the grunt work. Then, when they are finished, my Furies can have them as their first meal in their new home."

"Very good, my Heir. Write me all that you need ordered, and I shall see your graveyard made."

* * *

Hermione stiffened in her chair, and Ron looked over at her in understanding. He had been there when the Order had learned of this move of Harry's. They had found a small child, the only survivor of that "feast". The little girl hadn't lasted long, even with the combined efforts of the Order to save her; she had just lost too much blood. But he could almost hear her whispered words: 

_"…they had us all dig… deep holes in the dirt. I saw bones and wood brought up… they scared me. Mommy once said we were digging new graves before she became all weird again… six feet under, they said… though I never counted. Then, one day, they had all this dirt delivered, and told us to put it in the holes we made. I couldn't see anything different from that dirt as the dirt we had just dug up, but Mommy wasn't questioning it… so it had to have been different. Then they brought in these boxes, real long ones, like the ones we'd dug out sometimes. And we had to bury them kinda in the earth, but real near the surface. Then, after that night, people starting disappearing… one night Mommy didn't come back either…"_

But Harry didn't seem to care for their memories, and he continued his story as if he was recalling something unimportant.


	11. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten: Dawning of Scylla_

Harry had now reached the day that had become known amongst wizards as the anniversary of Dumbledore's death. One of the Wizengamot finally called for a break, and said that the court would reconvene the next day.

They would then hear of what had happened that day and during the war that had followed.

Ron and Hermione were quiet that night, as they sat together by the fire in the modest home that Ron had bought with his salary as the Head Auror.

"It's hard to take in, isn't it?" He finally spoke, looking at the flames.

Hermione nodded.

"I still see him as just Harry; but then I hear him speak, and it's like some demon is using my friend's body and-" Ron trailed off. No matter how one described it, Harry was Scylla, and this testimony was proving it, inch by blood-covered and darkened inch.

Hermione reached out to take Ron's hand in silent support, but a call of "Ron!" from the fireplace in the kitchen broke the comforting stillness.

Ron sighed and made his way to the door, Hermione trailing behind him.

"What's wrong, Dean?" he asked, as he entered the room to see the frazzled face of his childhood friend.

"There's something weird with this graveyard, Ron. And I'm not talking about the Vampires. They're all quiet and sitting on their tombs just _watching _us."

"What?"

"We can't get to them!" Dean practically yelled in frustration. "There's this electric, fiery _barrier_ around the entire graveyard. I've already lost a dozen men trying to get through it. And those few that made it through alive were immediately snuffed out by the Vampires. You can see them laughing at us as if it's some great sport. _They _know they're all safe back there."

"Pull out for tonight, and then try again in the morning," Ron sighed heavily. More setbacks; more traps set by Scylla to hinder them.

"This… _living lightning_ has been going for _days_, Ron," Dean spoke, exasperated. "You know I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't bad; you've got enough to deal with. But this thing isn't going out! And they're just happy to sit there and wait for us all to die trying to get to them."

"Stop trying to get through, then. Just monitor the place. Make sure no Vampire goes in or out. We'll starve them into having to come out."

"They're not starving; they're as healthy as can be. This thing's giving them energy like you wouldn't believe!" Dean's hatred of the barrier was evident.

Ron was silent for a long time. "Siege them. Surround the field on all sides and wait it out. I'll make sure the right supplies are sent, Dean. Just wait for a while. We have to finish the trial, and then I'll see what we can do to sort this problem out."

"Oh, yeah, Scylla's still talking isn't he?"

Ron nodded, mute.

"We're all reading it. Every paper's got a copy of what he's said so far. Can't believe most of it, to tell you the truth."

"Neither can we," Ron smiled ironically. "But it's more truth than he's told any of us for a few years, it seems, so of course we don't believe it."

Dean looked like he wanted to say something comforting, but couldn't find the words. "Well, we'll get entrenched here and wait for your orders."

"Good."

Dean's face disappeared into the embers and Ron nearly faltered as he stood up from where he'd crouched to talk face to face with his subordinate. Hermione caught him, and together they slowly sank to the floor.

"Fire and lightning… Harry's protecting his Furies alright," Ron muttered darkly. "The Centaurs have disappeared into the Black Forest in Romania, and the Vampires are sitting up on their graves like kings at a banquet. Makes you wonder what stroke of luck was watching over us to let us catch Malfoy."

Hermione nodded, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

Ron sighed heavily, leaning his head against Hermione's. "Tomorrow's going to be hell."

* * *

The courtroom was just as crowded as the days before. All waited with sickening eagerness for Scylla to be brought out and to begin speaking again. 

Hermione noticed that Harry's voice was hoarser than it had been the day before… probably from over-use. She sighed to herself; they wouldn't heal him after all. He was a prisoner, not a guest; a murderer, not their Savior.

But still, his words flowed like a calm river, spilling out of his mouth and filling the room with their sullen and firm truth. And Hermione wilted as he began to speak of the day Dumbledore had died, a day only two weeks after he had brought the Vampires into his circle; a day only two days after the muggles in the village surrounding Riddle Manner had begun to be sacrificed to his Vampire's appetites.

* * *

Harry listened wearily to Hermione as she spoke about who she thought the Half-Blood Prince was. He fought the urge to simply dismiss her, as rudely as he could, if he had his druthers. The Half-Blood Prince was a male, one could tell simply because of how he wrote his notes. A girl would have been… well… different. 

But no, if someone was as smart as the Half-Blood-Prince, Hermione would only be happy if it was another girl. So he listened and was very happy when Jimmy Peakes arrived with a scroll written upon by Dumbledore.

His first thought was that Dumbledore had indeed found the next Horcrux. This was not good; it could interfere with Voldemort's plan. Draco had to have the Cabinet fixed before he found the next Horcrux, or Voldemort would see fit to punish him. And Harry would not let that happen.

He left Ron and Hermione's company on the excuse that he was going straight to Dumbledore, but he detoured to the Room of Requirement as soon as he was out of their sight.

"How – _dare_ – you – aaaaargh!"

Harry came around the corner to find Trelawney sprawled upon the floor. She was right next to the Room of Requirement. Harry cursed to himself as he ran to her, as if worried for her. She could have seen Draco. He had to find out what she'd seen, and modify her memory, if necessary.

"What happened, Professor?"

"You may well ask!" she said shrilly, "I was strolling along, brooding upon certain dark portents I happened to have glimpsed…"

Harry realized that this was going nowhere fast. She wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know unless she knew he knew of the Room of Requirement. Letting it slip to her that he recognized the room, he asked her if she was not allowed into the room. It was very possible, since he hadn't been let into the room when Draco hadn't wanted him inside.

"Oh, I got in all right, but there was somebody already in there."

_Draco._ "Somebody in-? Who?" Harry demanded, perhaps a bit too harshly. "Who was in there?"

"I have no idea," He'd definitely been too forceful, he thought as Trelawney looked a bit shaken by his tone. He forced himself to relax and let her continue.

"I walked into the room, and I heard a voice, which has never happened before in all my years of hiding – of using the room, I mean."

"A voice? Saying what?" Had Draco said anything to give himself away?  
"I don't know that it was saying anything," said Professor Trelawney. "It was… whooping."

"_Whooping?" _She had to be joking… Draco never _whooped_.

"Gleefully," she said nodding.

Harry stared at her. Maybe it wasn't Draco at all then.

"Was it male or female?

"I would hazard a guess at male," said Professor Trelawney.

It had to be Draco. He'd even said he was going to try at the Cabinet again today… but why would Draco…

Then it hit him. Draco must have fixed the Cabinet. Harry fought down a smile at this revelation; it would be perfect timing after all.

"And it sounded happy?"

"Very happy."

"As though it was celebrating?"

"Most definitely."

That had to have been it: Draco had fixed the Cabinet. The Death Eaters would be arriving soon then… and he would have to get to Dumbledore in order to make sure the Headmaster was not warned in time.

Harry talked Trelawney into going to talk to Dumbledore, fighting down scathing comments as she said she missed having him as an Object in her class.

"I am afraid," she went on, "that the nag – I'm sorry, the centaur – knows nothing of cartomancy. I asked him – one Seer to another – had he not, too, sensed the distant vibration of coming catastrophe? But he seemed to find me almost comical! Yes, comical!"

Harry couldn't hide a grin at that and ducked his head so she would not see. Of course Firenze thought her comical! "Coming catastrophe"? Firenze was helping to plan it! And it was not a distant vibration; it was a resounding disharmony!

* * *

Dumbledore had indeed found a Horcrux, Harry was told when he entered Dumbledore's office. He easily promised to obey every one of Dumbledore's orders, were they simple, or ones like "run", "hide", or "go back". He let the Headmaster's office when bidden and returned quickly to the Gryffindor Common Room to grab his invisibility cloak. He took the Marauder's Map, as well, thinking he would need to know when all was set for Dumbledore's return. He ran into Hermione and Ron, and debated what to do for a second. They were too suspicious; they knew something was going on. Quickly, he told them what had occurred. But, he knew that that would not be enough. Mentally he debated what to do, and he knew he had to appear to still trust them, to still be against Draco and Voldemort. 

He shoved the Marauder's Map into Hermione's hands, telling her to watch Draco and to alert the D.A. if something happened, even mentioning that Snape may be involved. He gave Ron what was left of the Felix Felicis, as well. He didn't want them killed in the coming battle, not that particular battle, anyway.

And he left before they could respond.

Hopefully, they would treat this as another part of his "obsession with Malfoy", and pay it no mind. But, if they did pay attention, then he would have to rely on the fact that no one would listen to their warnings until too late.

Dumbledore was waiting for him, and they set off down the dark and deserted street of Hogsmeade, Harry cloaked by the invisibility cloak. As he suspected, Madam Rosmerta was evicting a wizard from her pub just as they were passing by.

"Oh, hello, Albus… You're out late…"

Behind Dumbledore, Harry lifted the hood of his Cloak, nodding meaningfully at her glazed eyes before hiding again. He saw the spark of knowledge take root and smiled sadistically at Dumbledore's revealed back. The message had been sent to Voldemort; his death tonight was assured.

* * *

Harry shivered with the feelof Voldemort's magic in the stones of the cave, even as he asked Dumbledore how he knew that this was where the Horcrux was. 

He watched almost gleefully as Dumbledore paid the blood sacrifice to enter the inner cave. Crude? Harry thought not. Blood was the most delicate balance to set, and gave away the most weaknesses to the enemy when spilt. The cave would now be tuned to Dumbledore's magic, and tuned to his alone in an attempt to expel it. Surely the old fool knew that much?

They entered the inner cave to see an eerie sight. They were standing on the edge of a great black lake, so vast that Harry could not make out the distant banks, located in a cavern so high that the ceiling, too, was out of sight. A misty greenish light shown far away in what looked like the middle of the lake; it was reflected in the completely still water below. It was the only light in the darkness, a denser darkness than normal. Harry felt the touch of Voldemort's magic everywhere in this cavern; it reminded him of Voldemort's dreamscape, and he watched Dumbledore warily as he followed him around the edge of the lake.

Be careful old man, he taunted in his mind. We aren't in real space anymore, you know that much, right? The power of Salazar Slytherin, and of Apollo from whom he descends: to make light from shadows, and thus illusions so real they take up their own space in the mortal coil. Or perhaps you do not know. Perhaps you this working of pureblood magic fools. Only time will tell, I think. Let me see your weakness, then, if you are foolish enough to show me, I may weaken you for my Draco to kill.

Harry suggested using a Summoning Charm to get the Horcrux, in order to cover up his thoughts as those of a different kind. It did not work, as Harry knew it wouldn't. Voldemort would not have been so foolish as to let a simple Summoning Charm disarm his trap, especially when that trap was now tuned on to Dumbledore.

Harry was surprised by the creature that leapt out at his charm, though. What was it? He hadn't seen it well enough. Was it an Inferi?

Harry grudgingly had to admit that Dumbledore was not a stupid wizard when he found the boat Voldemort had placed next to the shore, for if he ever had to return. As they crossed, he looked over the side, only to see the traces of Inferi all around the boat. _So that was an Inferi before._ Voldemort did like to use them, so he shouldn't have been surprised.

He realized that Harry Potter would not have been nonplused to see human remains in the lake, so he pretended to be shocked and disgusted.

"I think I saw a hand in the water – a human hand!"

"Yes I'm sure you did," said Dumbledore calmly.

"So that thing that jumped out of the water - ?" Harry waited for Dumbledore to remark on the Inferi, but he never did. Instead, Harry glimpsed an entire body in the water.

"There are bodies in here!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore placidly, "but we do not need to worry about them at the moment."

"At the moment?" Harry repeated, secretly seething. _He_ did not have to worry about them at all. They would not be after him; Dumbledore was who they would attack, was whose magic to which they were now attuned.

"Not while they are merely drifting peacefully below us," said Dumbledore. "There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. But, once again, he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."

Harry did not risk saying anything, fighting not to defend his mentor, who did not fear anything to do with the darkness or death, having lived through both. But, if Dumbledore had to think that in order not to fear Voldemort, then let him think such. He would realize, in the end, his mistake.

They reached the middle of the lake, and the basin which held the Horcrux. Harry couldn't hide the fiendish gleam from his eyes as Dumbledore began to drink the potion which hid the Horcrux. He wondered how long it would be before he would have to force Dumbledore to drink the potion… two goblets? Three?

Dumbledore surprised him: tt took four before Harry had to step in.

"I don't want… don't make me… don't like… want to stop…"

"You can't stop, Professor," Harry told him calmly. You can't and you won't. I will make sure you drink it all, and suffer the consequences.

Dumbledore drank.

"No… I don't want to… I don't want to … Let me go…"

"It's alright, Professor," Harry said, watching the man tremble with fiendish glee. "I'm here-" And, later, maybe you'll wish I hadn't been.

"Make it stop; make it stop,"

"Yes… yes, this'll make it stop," Harry lied fluently. It wouldn't; it would only make it worse.

Dumbledore drank.

"No, no, no, no, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to…"

"It's all right, Professor, it's all right!" Harry yelled over Dumbledore's moaning. Of course it was all right. This was what he was supposed to do, just as Draco was supposed to speak the words to kill Dumbledore later.

Dumbledore drank.

"It's all my fault, all my fault. Please, make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please, make it stop and I'll never, never again…"

Tempting, but untrue. "This will make it stop, Professor."

Again, Dumbledore drank.

"Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, please, it's my fault, hurt me instead…" Dumbledore was sobbing now.

Oh I am. "Here, drink this, drink this; you'll be all right."

Dumbledore fell forward screaming, as Harry maliciously filled the ninth goblet.

"No more, please, no more…" he screamed, but Harry shook his head as if in mockery of sadness.

"We're nearly there, Professor."

Tenth goblet.

Eleventh goblet.

Dumbledore screamed in anguish. "I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop; I want to die!"

What do you think I'm doing old man? I'm working on it! "Drink this, Professor. Drink this…"

Dumbledore drank, and then immediately screamed, "KILL ME!"

GLADLY! Harry wanted to scream back. But killing Dumbledore wasn't his job, wasn't his mission; he only had to finish weakening Dumbledore.

One more goblet, and it was done. Harry caught how he'd been letting his mask slip and immediately fell back into his role of "Harry Potter", trying to make sure Dumbledore was all right. He could feel the Inferi surrounding them and fought against the whim to just let them finish off Dumbledore, but he knew he could not allow that.

He held back his inner magic, even though it hurt not to use it, and fired spell after spell, eventually coming to use _Sectumsempra _against them, even if it was a dark spell; if Dumbledore was aware enough to recognize the spell, the old man knew he knew it, anyway.

He felt the Inferi overtake him and then scatter as Dumbledore's fire surrounded them. He followed Dumbledore back across the lake after the Headmaster had taken the locket from the depths of the basin. He helped the old man out of the cave, opened the archway again with his own blood, and assured him that he could apparate them both back to Hogsmeade.

"I am not worried, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger. "I am with you."

Harry wished he could tell Dumbledore how wrong he was, that he should be worried, but that was not for him to tell… not yet. But, soon, it would be time.

* * *

The castle was as he thought it would be when they returned: utter chaos just waiting to explode. He could feel the clouds gathering around them as he and Dumbledore alighted on the Tower ramparts. All was going according to plan, and he grinned sadistically at Dumbledore through his invisibility cloak. Draco should be arriving soon. Then they would watch Dumbledore die together, just as they had promised. 

Dumbledore ordered for him to go and get Snape, an order Harry questioned immediately. He did not want to go and get Snape, he wanted to be here for when Draco arrived as he promised he would!

But, he moved towards the door anyway, only to be thrown back by an _Expelliarmus_ and held in place by a Freezing Charm when it opened in front of him. He glared at Dumbledore invisibly. It was _his_ Freezing Charm holding him in place!

"Good evening, Draco."

Bloody hell! And Harry couldn't move. He had no way of telling Draco he was there!

Draco stepped forward, almost immediately seeing the two brooms.

_Yes, Draco!_ Harry cheered. _I'm here! Know that I'm here! Finish him off!_

"Who else is here?"

"A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?"

Harry mentally yelled as he watched Draco begin to stall for time by telling Dumbledore about the Death Eaters, watched him become worked up over Dumbledore telling him he could not kill.

_It's not true Draco, don't listen to him! You've killed before, and you planned all those would-be killings in order to make him doubt your abilities! I'm here! Kill him!_

Yet, still, Draco continued his banter with Dumbledore as yells and thuds sounded from below; still, Draco stalled for time he thought Harry needed to arrive. Harry could only listen as the entire plan, from Draco's end, was revealed, right up to placing the Imperius Curse on Rosmerta. He could only listen as Dumbledore offered Draco safety from Voldemort, and as Draco lied to his face that he was being threatened with death should he fail to kill him. He could still only watch as the other Death Eaters finally reached the top of the Tower and urged Draco to kill Dumbledore. And still Draco stalled; still Draco waited for Harry, as they had promised each other.

Despite his frustration, Harry could not help but feel the pride that filled him at his Draco's actions. Draco was a true Fury of Hades; not a Death Eater, not even a Malfoy, but a Fury of Hades.

Snape appeared in the doorway, and Harry could only watch as he looked at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore pleaded with him.

"Severus… please…"

And Harry watched in dismay as Snape spoke the two words that were, by right, Draco's alone:

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

* * *

The entire court paused at Harry's words, most remembering sadly the events which led up to Dumbledore's death. Others looked at Harry in loathing at his comment that it was Draco's right to kill Dumbledore, and that Snape should not have done so, as if killing Dumbledore was like ordering an ice cream, or something equally as childish. 

"Continue, Scylla."

Harry continued.

* * *

Dumbledore's magic wore off as his life ebbed away, and he fell backward over the ramparts. But this still gave Snape enough time to grab Draco and guide him back toward the door. Harry knew what his plan was: bring them both back to Voldemort. But he could not allow that to happen. He had to get to Draco, had to protect Draco – even shedding his cover as Harry Potter, if he had to. 

He leapt the last ten steps of the spiral staircase that led down into the castle, petrified Fenrir, and passed both McGonagall and Neville. But he still had not found Draco. Snape was moving too fast, he cursed to himself as he ran. Neville had told him he had seen Snape and Draco run past; they had to be here somewhere. He would _have_ to find them soon.

He ran toward a shortcut - Snape and Malfoy would have to be on the grounds by now - and nearly ran into a bunch of bewildered Hufflepuffs, still wearing their pajamas and wiping sleep from their eyes.

"Out of the way!" Harry yelled, knocking two boys aside, heedless of whether he'd hurt them or not. He had to catch up to Draco. He would not allow Draco to be in Voldemort's presence when Voldemort did not yet even know that Draco was no longer a Death Eater.

Harry flew across the entrance hall, and out onto the dark grounds. He gazed around wildly for the traces of Voldemort's Dark Mark, not caring who might see his eyes now. He could modify their memories later, if he needed to. There: three figures racing across the lawn towards the gate, two tinged with the gray threads of Voldemort's magic, and one shining with his own bright blue. The third was lagging behind the other two, as if running because he had to, not because he wanted too.

"CHRYBDIS!" Harry heard his own voice shriek, and the last figure turned as he began sprinting towards them. As he closed in on them, Snape began to fire curses at him. Harry rolled and dodged, his wand forgotten, and in innate magic shimmering around him.

Snape was yelling at Draco to run, but the younger man stood rooted to the spot, watching Scylla close the distance between them. He had nothing to fear from Harry's full power, as Snape did.

Hagrid's hut was burning, the half-giant distracted by the few Death Eaters that had followed Harry out of the castle. Twenty yards apart, Snape and Harry looked at each other, Snape's wand held pointed at Harry's heart in a white-knuckled hand.

"Stand down!" Harry yelled over the sounds of the battle, and a crack of thunder echoed his words.

"No, Potter!" screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG, and Harry rolled forward under the curse, his shirt torn and scraped off his back by the force of the explosion. Now, standing only ten yards apart, Harry stood and removed the other tatters of his shirt, the green snake glittering in the flames of Hagrid's burning hut.

"I, Lord Scylla, demand you stand down, Snape!"

Snape stared at Harry, his face a torrent of confusion, rage, and agony.

"What?"

Harry ignored his uttered question, turning to Draco and nodding him closer. Draco ran to him, and Harry drew him closer, unconcerned by Snape's watching eyes.

"Go to my relative's house," he spoke calmly in Draco's ear, despite the adrenaline and magic flowing through him. "It is Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey. There will be three muggles in the house. Sun them; petrify them; do whatever you want, but don't kill them - that will set off the wards. Wait there for me. It will be the safest place for you." Harry spared a glance in Snape's direction. "Both of you. I will come and get you once this is all sorted out."

Draco nodded, placing a kiss on the shell of Harry's ear before moving to follow his commands. With one last look in Snape's direction, Harry turned and walked back toward the castle, the coil of the green snake on his back glittering in the light of fire and spell-work.

* * *

Harry passed the next few days in a blur, amidst the most lying and pretending he'd ever done in his life. His first priority, when he got a moment alone, was to send a trio of his most trusted Vampires to Surrey to make sure Draco had arrived there safely. Then, he sent Firenze to the Centaurs to tell them it was time to move from the Forbidden Forest. By the end of Dumbledore's funeral, he had received word that all the Centaurs were safely positioned in the woods around Riddle Manor, and that the last of the Vampires had arrived and been successfully transplanted into the grounds of the massive graveyard he had created for their stay. 

He assimilated information about what had occurred, and vaguely remembered details of the days leading up to the funeral: Bill and Fleur were still getting married; his conversation with Scrimgeour; Hogwarts might be closed next year because of the war… but, he did remember clearly his last real conversation with Ron and Hermione, his last lie to them.

He had not anticipated Ron and Hermione wanting to come with him to his aunt and uncle's house. He immediately opposed the idea.

"No –"

"You said to us once before," said Hermione quietly, "that there was a time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"

Harry remembered that vaguely - another one of his lies, merely meant to pacify them. But, now, he wished that he hadn't said it. It _wasn't_ their choice! He needed them to let him be on his own long enough for him to disappear, and for Lord Scylla to take his place.

"We're with you whatever happens," said Ron. "But mate, you're going to have to come round my mum and dad's house before we do anything else, even Godric's Hollow."

Harry could have hugged Ron – but he didn't. Here would be his way out.

"Why?"

"Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?"

Harry pretended to think for a moment. "Yeah, we shouldn't miss that. Here's what we'll do, then. I'll go to my aunt and uncle's; Hermione, you go home, too - until the wedding. After that, we'll head to Godric's Hollow, and then go after the Horcruxes."

Hermione didn't like it, Harry could tell. But Ron said, "Sounds like a plan, I guess, mate."

It was only when he was alone that he let himself smile the smirk he had felt bubbling behind his lips throughout the whole conversation.

* * *

The train ride back to King's Cross was an awkward affair, with everyone on edge. Harry wanted to yell at them to just relax. Voldemort wouldn't be attacking the train; that wasn't part of the plan! But he kept his words to himself, as well as the glares, groans, and other sounds or looks that would have given away his true feelings. 

All were subdued, with Dumbledore's death hanging over them like a rain cloud. It would be nice if it rained, Harry thought. Thunder and lightning… it would really help my mood.He almost laughed at the thought. Of course it would, thunder and lightning were part of him.

He caught a glimpse of a shadow out of the corner of his eye as the train moved across the land and smiled as he recognized the form of a single Centaur scout. Good of them to make sure nothing interferes with my plans. They always anticipate my wants.

* * *

Number Four, Privet Drive, looked as it always had: so very "muggle" and "normal", as Harry apparated into one of the shadows of the street. It was dusk, and the shadows were long along the road. But Harry did not stick to the shadows, as was his habit. No, he walked boldly down the drive in his faded muggle hand-me-downs that he had been given by his aunt and uncle, and turned into the driveway of Number Four. 

He did not bother knocking, but flicked his wrist at the door to unlock it and opened it. Once inside, he transfigured the muggle clothing into his preferred wizard robes, and continued through the house.

They were waiting for him in what had been the Dursleys' living room. Draco smiled at him angelically as he entered, while Snape watched him suspiciously. There would be no denying that this was not Harry Potter, as Snape had known him, who entered the room. This was Lord Scylla. Harry had stopped forcing his eyes into their strange and unnatural shape, letting them remain in the bird-like style. The snake tattoo hissed out at the world from the sleeveless robes he wore, and his wand was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

One member of the Wizengamot cleared his throat, and Scylla was ordered to stop for now. The first week of the trial was over. During the second week, Scylla would speak of the war he had helped to create. 


	12. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven: Scylla Revealed_

Dusk had fallen in Hogsmeade; the shadows had lengthened to cloak the town in night. There was nothing more than a subtle shift when, in the darkest alleys, these shadows took on a corporeal form, and detached themselves from the darkness. They slowly walked towards the main street of Hogsmeade, keeping to the edges of buildings where the shadows were the thickest. Several detached themselves from the alleys completely and headed for the nearest streetlamps. When these sputtered and died, they receded back into the dark crannies from which they had appeared to wait.

Rosmerta was cleaning the bar countertop when she noticed how dark it was outside. Yes, it was late, but there was always some illumination in the streets. Strange, she thought. There must be a problem with the streetlamps. It didn't really bother her too much; it was almost closing time anyway.

She looked up in surprise when the door chimed. Even the regulars had already gone home – who could possibly want to get a drink at this time of night?

The man that entered was dressed in a black cloak with a hood large enough to cast his face in shadow. He took a seat by the window but said nothing. No order for a drink; not even a look in her direction.

That was very odd.

"Sir?" The man's head shifted only slightly as a sign that he'd even heard her. "It's almost closing time."

"I don't want a drink." She'd heard that voice before, she knew, but she couldn't place who it was. Forcing herself to get back to work, she let him be. As long as he left at closing time, she didn't mind if he just sat there, looking out the window.

What he was looking for, she couldn't fathom. It was pitch black outside – what was _wrong_ with those streetlamps? – and she couldn't understand how he could even expect to see anything. It was quiet in the bar, as the strange man sat silent and still, the only sounds coming from her own movements.

She finished cleaning and setting out what she'd need for the next day's crowd. Then she dimmed the lights, as she always did at this time, before looking up at the clock.

"It's closing time," she called over to the man apologetically.

He rose and turned to look at her for the first time since he'd come in. "Thank you for your assistance," he murmured, and her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of silver eyes, before hearing the low murmur and seeing the flash of green light.

Draco Malfoy pulled back the large hood and unclasped the bulky outer cloak, letting it fall to the bench he'd been sitting on. He wouldn't need it anymore. Heat lightning had been racing across the sky for a few minutes before she'd let her guard down; Harry was ready.

He left the door open as he left. Outside, a low drizzle had begun to fall, and he cast a small charm to repel the rainwater.

Shadows moved around him but he didn't bother to try and pick out the individual vampires that stood before him. "You know what Scylla wants. Raze the place."

Lightning flashed down, and the smell of burning wood smoldered upon the smell the night air. Draco's smile was arcane. "You'd better hurry up, too; it looks like Scylla and the Centaurs have already started."

* * *

When Ron had been shaken awake by a terrified Hermione, it had been as if he'd fallen asleep and found himself in a nightmare. His family had been gathered downstairs, all tense and trying not to appear too scared to one another – as if by not allowing their fear to show it would make the danger less than it really was. 

"But there hasn't been a Vampire attack since the eighteen hundreds," his mother kept saying as his father explained that the Ministry had issued a formal evacuation order for Hogsmeade.

"Vampires aren't the whole of it," Charlie added. "Centaurs are there too. Most of Hogsmeade is already destroyed."

Ron looked across the table at Hermione as his father explained that the Ministry had explicitly said that no one but the elite Auror squads were to enter Hogsmeade and to try to help save as many lives as they could. Hermione read his look and nodded slightly.

Harry would go there, they knew. This might be reported as a Dark Creature attack now, but only one person would order Dark Creatures around like that. Harry would go, expecting to meet Voldemort there. And they would be right behind him.

Ron found the opening to get away first, slipping around the back of the house, wand clenched tightly in his hand. Closing his eyes, he focused on the Three Broomsticks, hoping that his determination to help Harry would be enough.

* * *

He apparated into a darkened room that, after a short inspection, proved to be the Three Broomsticks. And he, himself, had apparated in one piece. Now to find Harry. 

As he headed for the door, he nearly tripped over something soft on the floor. His hand met something cold and clammy. He cast _lumos_, and stared in horror at the look of surprise on the face of Madam Rosmerta's corpse. But… she hadn't been killed by a Vampire. Or a Centaur. This was a Wizard's work.

He and Hermione had been right. Voldemort and his Death Eaters must be here. This was proof.

Everything was blazing along the streets. Ron kept to the shadows as much as he could, so as not to draw attention to himself. He remembered his father saying that the Ministry had first sent in Fire Protection Squads because they thought it was just a very bad fire. But they had all been killed, and the few who had lived long enough to try and put out a fire had reported that it wasn't regular fire – it didn't burn the way normal fires did. This fire seemed to liquefy wood, metal, anything, as it burned.

He edged back as far as he could into an alley as he heard footsteps heading his way. Peering out as far as he dared, he saw a figure walking out of one of the melting houses. It was a wizard! But he wasn't dressed like a Death Eater; he wore no mask. Just a very large hood which obscured his features. He turned and headed up the street as if he was strolling through the park.

Slowly, Ron followed him.

* * *

The figure was heading towards the Shrieking Shack, Ron realized. It must have been the only building left in Hogsmeade that wasn't burning, he thought with a grimace, as he watched the figure slow and wait for a moment once the Shack came into sight. Then he held out his arm. 

Ron stared as a snowy white owl landed on the figure's arm. He knew that owl! That was Harry's owl! But what was Hedwig doing here?

"That was rather easy, Hedwig," the voice carried on the wind to Ron's ears. He knew that voice! "Almost a pity that they burn so quickly."

The owl hooted and the figure turned slowly to look at the spot where Ron was hiding. Slowly, his other arm reached up to remove the hood. "I see we have a visitor," Harry called in Ron's direction. "How are you, Ron?"

Ron gawked at Harry as he stepped out towards him. There was something very wrong with his friend. When had Harry learned to smile like _that_? That wasn't even a real smile – it sent chills up his spine. And there was something wrong with Harry's eyes; they looked like a green version of Hedwig's eyes!

"Enjoying the display, Ron? But you seem to have come without Hermione. A pity."

Something was _very_ wrong. Harry didn't talk like that.

Hedwig hooted, and Harry cocked his head toward her as if he was listening. "Let the Ministry send as many Aurors as they want. I doubt that the Vampires are full, or that the Centaurs have satisfied their blood lust, yet."

"What's _wrong_ with you, Harry?" Ron sputtered. Harry couldn't talk to owls! Surely, they would have known that if he could.

"Wrong, Ron? Nothing's wrong," Harry's smile was dark and predatory. "Whatever makes you ask that?"

Someone must be controlling Harry, Ron realized. That was the only explanation for it. Yeah, and that would explain the eyes. Someone had cursed Hedwig and was controlling Harry through her. That's why he thought he could hear what she was saying, and why his eyes looked exactly like hers.

Steeling himself, Ron raised his wand. He would only get one shot.

Harry frowned as Ron pointed his wand at him. What a very foolish move. Light erupted from the tip as Ron shouted, and Harry held up a hand to deflect the curse. But Ron wasn't aiming at him. The curse went wide and Hedwig fell off his arm in a flutter of feathers.

Rage boiled inside him, and rain began to fall – now a storm instead of a drizzle.

"Why did you do that?"

Harry's voice had changed now. It was still Harry's voice, yes, but it held a sinister, angry quality.

"Snap out of it, Harry! You can fight whoever's controlling you; I know you can!"

"Controlling? You really are a bloody moron."

Both Ron and Harry turned as Draco Malfoy stepped out of the shadows next to Harry.

Ron glared at Malfoy. "What have you done to Harry?"

Malfoy smiled. "Nothing at all."

Harry's smile matched Malfoy's in malice. "It isn't that hard a concept to grasp, Ron. You came here expecting to find Voldemort, didn't you? Expecting I'd want your _help_." The smile twisted into a smirk. "As you can see, I don't. I can burn a town to the ground all by myself."

Ron's eyes widened. _What?_

"Where did you think the fire came from? The Vampires? The Centaurs? Which of those two has the power to create a fire that burns everything in flames so hot that every material melts? You can't be so stupid as to think that anyone other than a very powerful Wizard could do that."

Harry's words were like a physical blow, and Ron could only gape at his friend as they sunk in. _Harry _had done all this? He couldn't believe it.

He watched in horror as Harry stepped close to Malfoy and draped an arm around his waist. "But, we're almost done here. Honestly, Ron, I thought you would get here sooner. Is the Order that slow to act now that Dumbledore is dead? Or are they not coming at all?"

But Ron wasn't listening to Harry's words anymore. They weren't Harry's words; they couldn't be. He was staring at Malfoy, and the triumphant smirk he wore.

A dark fury built up inside of him.

This was all Malfoy's fault. It had to be! Harry had been suspicious of Malfoy all year long, and both he and Hermione had ignored Harry. So Malfoy had done something to Harry, something that made him act this way? If only he and Hermione had listened to Harry, then they have been able to help him!

Because Ron _knew_ Harry. Harry was his best friend, and Malfoy's enemy. That's how it had always been. Harry, who had started to date his sister, who wouldn't be draping himself over Malfoy like _that_. _That_ was all Malfoy's doing.

Perhaps Ron had been distracted during the school year. But he was still Harry's best friend. He would make up for not figuring out what was wrong sooner. He would make up for brushing Harry's concerns about Malfoy off like he had.

Neither Malfoy nor Harry had their wands out, and Ron's had been pointed at them ever since he'd killed Hedwig.

"_Avada Kedavra!"

* * *

_

Hermione apparated into a hellish nightmare, she was sure of it. It was like molten fire, all around her. Screams wafted on the night air, and, though it was the dead of night, the flames of burning Hogsmeade were as bright as the noon sun. The rain, which was now steadily drenching everything it could, seemed to flow off the fires, and the fires only burned brighter – as if the rain was oil and not water.

She shivered despite the heat and headed up the road. She had to find Ron and Harry. She only hoped she was not too late.

* * *

Malfoy didn't even flinch as the green light stopped a meager distance from his chest. He just smiled at Ron as if to say, "You've really done it now, you know". 

Harry glared at Ron, his fingers clasped around a ball of green light – all that was left of Ron's Killing Curse.

"Such anger, such intent," he snarled. "I should have known you would be able to cast such a thing."

Ron was still staring at Malfoy. Something was wrong. Malfoy hadn't looked scared in the slightest, even when he was facing down death itself. There was trust in those eyes. Trust that Harry would do... whatever it was Harry had done, and save him – even from the grip of death! One didn't trust someone that you were manipulating, Ron knew that much. There was something very wrong going on here.

Harry brought his hand away from where the curse would have hit Malfoy just above his heart. He tossed the ball of green light in the air and caught it again, as if he was throwing around a snitch that couldn't fly away.

"Love does very powerful things, Ron. A great pity you'll never understand that."

The ball of light shuttered and zapped forward, searing through Ron's wand at the hilt with perfect precision and then flying off to hit a tree just behind him. A crack filled the air as the tree split down the middle.

"I suppose I should tell you now, as a last gift to a former friend," Harry mused. "Everyone will know tomorrow anyway."

Harry held out a hand, and a peal of thunder rumbled across the sky. His fingers twitched, and lightning bolts raced together with a loud crash. When he lowered his hand, centered in the sky, glowed a bright blue Mark. It had to be, Ron thought, though it certainly wasn't the Dark Mark. This was no skull with a tongue of a snake. This was a crudely drawn zigzag that could have been a lightning bolt itself – or Harry's scar – framed with intricate wings.

"I am Lord Scylla, Voldemort's Heir. My followers are the Furies of Hades, and this is merely a small taste of what we could do to your precious wizarding world. I should kill you now," Harry told him bluntly. "But I need someone to deliver that message to the Order, to let them know that Harry is no more. You'll do that won't you? After all, it's what friends do for each other." Harry spat out the word "friends" as if spitting out poison.

Harry didn't bother to look at Ron as he and Malfoy disappeared with a loud pop, but Malfoy didn't bother to hide the smug look of victory that he cast in Ron's direction.

* * *

When Hermione arrived, Ron hadn't moved – merely fallen to the ground in a limp heap where he'd stood. She didn't ask him what happened, just apparated them both back to the Burrow and put him to sleep, sitting as a silent watch guard beside him. 

He slept the entire next day, as owl after owl from different publications converged on the Burrow with an invitation for Ron to do an interview and talk about how it must feel to be betrayed by his best friend.

Ron never saw these as Hermione dutifully burned them all.

* * *

The courtroom was silent as Hermione abruptly stood from her seat and made her way out into the lobby. Many people had done the same thing as Scylla had been talking – describing in strictly accurate terms all he'd done to prepare for that first attack and how Hogsmeade had burned in front of his eyes. All those who could not stomach his descriptions had been allowed to leave to recover, but Hermione wasn't leaving for that reason. 

As she sat on one of the chairs outside the courtroom, she cried, her own memories awhirl with how both she and Ron had changed so much after that day. After Ron had woken up, he was not the same. He was still her Ron, but something had been broken inside. He'd started training with a fury no one could comprehend, and he'd applied for Auror training. She remembered how he'd looked when he'd gotten accepted. And she remembered how he'd looked when he'd been about to leave.


	13. Chapter 12

_Chapter Twelve: Devil's Snare_

Hermione looked around the room, and all of her strength seemed to leave her as she realized that McGonagall had not touched the place. It seemed as if Albus Dumbledore himself would walk into the room any minute and offer her a lemon drop. Everything was as it had been that night- even the layer of dust which would have been present in an un-used room had been wiped clean by the dutiful House-elves. She steadied herself on the wall for a moment before she began to walk through the room. Her answers would be here. They had to be.

But nothing came to her. The problems in her mind still remained.

Voldemort had to die, for if he did not, the war would never end.

Harry had to be the one to cast the curse, or else Voldemort would not die.

Somehow, Harry had to fall out of favor with Voldemort; somehow he had to become rebellious enough to wish to kill Voldemort.

But Harry was untouchable, protected by the centaurs and vampires.

They, too, were problems in themselves. She could not shake from her mind the dark clouds that Harry held over the cemetery behind Riddle Manor, clouds that blocked out the very sunlight that would be lethal to his vampiric followers. With this strange power of his, he could attack at any time he pleased, making day into pseudo-night so that his followers could attack without fear of the sun.

Voldemort's followers, Hermione did not fear. They were humans, and could be defeated by other humans. But Harry was not stupid. He had picked followers that were not human; followers that needed a more elegant plan to defeat. But Hermione had none.

"McGonagall told me I could find you here," a voice spoke softly from the shadows, and Hermione heard the faint creak as a door closed. She turned to find Ron leaning on that door, his face drawn and tired, perhaps mirroring her own.

"I've been thinking about the Furies of Hades," Hermione told him, turning back to look at the room. "But I've found nothing. Even here, I can't think of anything."

"Perhaps you're thinking too hard." Ron closed the space between them, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Perhaps you have to wait for the answer to come to you."

"We don't have time for that."

Ron frowned. "We'll have to take that time, then. At least enough time for me to infiltrate the Aurors."

Hermione frowned. He'd done it then. He'd agreed to become an Auror, all so that the Order of the Phoenix could slowly influence the Aurors in the fight against Voldemort and Scylla.

"It will take time, but I think I can do it."

Hermione heard the doubt in his voice. He knew she disapproved of the giant chess game that this war had become between the Ministry and the Order. And, yet, still, he wanted her approval.

"If anyone can do it, it would be you, Ron." She smiled at him and could almost feel him puff up in pride at her words. For a moment, she remembered that they were only just adults, had only just left school and childhood. They were only just stepping out into the world on their own.

"And if anyone can think of a strategy against Voldemort and H-Scylla, it would be you. Just have faith in yourself, and you'll find the answer. Come on-" Ron began to lead her to the door. "Dinner's going to be served."

* * *

"You're still up, Hermione?" Ron's tired voice called from the doorway, jolting her from the memory. "What are you doing up so late?" As he entered the room, he could see the table in front of her, strewn with newspaper clippings. "Oh." 

"I don't want to hear it all again, Ron," Hermione whispered. "I remember what happened. I don't want to hear him tell about it. Don't want to hear him mock…" she trailed off in a sob, and Ron rushed to her side.

He cradled her to him as she cried. "Then don't go, Hermione. You've been through enough. You don't owe it to anyone to go."

"But… you know what will happen after he's finished."

"No, we don't," Ron reminded her firmly. "The trial isn't rigged. It will be fair. There is no forgone conclusion. Not anymore. We swore this would not be like the Death Eater trials before, you know that."

"I know. But even if he lives, he'll be locked up in Azkaban. I'll never see him again."

So you'll go to the trials and only get hurt more? Ron wanted to ask. Were it up to him, he would not have gone to a single moment of the trial. He knew the 'Harry' who sat there before the world and spilled his dark secrets was not the Harry whom had been his friend. This was Lord Scylla. He, personally, did not want his last memories of Harry Potter, his best friend, to be the twisted monster that now resided in Harry's shell.

Hermione's sobs had died down, and Ron loosened his hold as she sat back and returned her attention to the small table in front of her. Newspaper clippings. Hundreds of newspaper clippings which she had started collecting the summer after Bill and Fleur's wedding. If anyone wanted a timeline of all the things Harry had done as Lord Scylla, Ron thought, all they would have to do is look through these.

Hermione had placed them in order by date, and was now adding the most recent events to the bottom of the pile: those huge articles that repeated, almost word for word, the events of Harry Potter's slow transformation into Lord Scylla.

"You go to bed, Ron. You'll need to get up early again tomorrow."

"Will you be alright?" Ron asked softly as Hermione began thumbing through the clippings.

"I will be. All these hold are memories – nothing to be afraid of."

But Ron heard the fear in her voice. He'd heard it in her voice, and his own, ever since that first Vampire attack which had heralded the arrival of Lord Scylla at Lord Voldemort's side. They'd just become used to ignoring it.

* * *

As Ron padded toward the bedroom, Hermione replaced the clipping which had prompted her memory of her trip to Hogwarts. She'd cut off the outrageous, supposedly eye-catching title, which had asked "Is This Enough Against Two Dark Lords?" 

It was the article which listed the new aurors that had graduated from training – pushed through the system as fast as possible so they could be sent to the field to fight in the brewing war. Ron and his seven other 'class members' stood proudly at attention, none of them smiling – with only the slightest twinge of movement to show that this was a wizard photo and not a muggle one. Aurors had such discipline that even their photographed selves would not move from where they were supposed to be.

The clipping was dated two months after Ron had left for auror training. The one underneath it was dated three days later. Hermione had cut off its title as well, the glaring letters that had proclaimed, "Vampires Stopped In Recent Attack". She remembered its cause, a short joyful one that had occurred the day before the attack. She hadn't expected to use her plan so quickly, but Scylla waited for no one in this war, and she had forged ahead with her idea, perfected only an hour before Scylla's vampires struck.

* * *

Hermione lay awake pondering Ron's words – words which had echoed in her mind even when Ron himself had been ensconced in his training and far from her. "Faith in herself"… she couldn't really remember having that. The only time she was sure of herself was after she had studied for so long that she had memorized what she needed to know. It worked for tests, but it would not work here. There was no book "How to Fight a War Against Your Former Friend 101". No; in essence she was doing the preliminary research one would need to write that book. 

But she was blind. There were only a few times in which she had blindly approached something this dangerous, yet even those paled in comparison to this one. For, in those times, both Harry and Ron had been beside her, and she had known somehow that they would pull through because of that. Yet now she was alone. Ron was in the midst of his training to be an Auror; he had left that night, and would not be back for another month, at least. And Harry… Harry had changed. Harry was gone, and in his place stood Scylla. In Hermione's mind, they were still very much two different people.

But she did not want to think of the present. She wanted to think of the past, when Harry and Ron had been there, and she had faith that everything would be alright in the end, no matter the obstacle. She smiled as she remembered the first time she had met them, only a brief meeting when she asked if they had seen a toad, Neville's toad. Then there was Halloween, in which they had actually become friends. And then the search for the Philosopher's Stone had cemented that friendship, in her mind, at least. She had been confident that they could get through the traps; hadn't even thought that there might be a possibility of failure the way this sentence is designed, it seems to me that this is the way it's supposed to be interpreted. They seemed so sure of themselves, charging up to protect the Stone from Snape. How foolish they had been… she missed those days.

Of course, they had not even set foot into the hallway that led to the Stone before they'd uncovered, or rather fell into, the first trap. She had recognized the Devil's Snare immediately, and her memory had come through for her like it always did.

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare, is deadly fun, but will sulk in the sun," she whispered, picturing the vines that liked the damp and dark, seeing Ron still struggling within it overhead.

The picture shattered, and she sat bolt upright in bed.

"Will sulk in the sun…"

Her eyes widened as a different picture entered her mind, a picture of a graveyard covered in dense black clouds and dark figures sitting in the shadows.

"Devil's Snare hates sunlight."

Her hand found her wand on the bedside table and she pointed it up towards the ceiling, as if pointing it at her friend in need, or at the dark clouds.

_"Lumos Solem!"_

Light, sunlight, filled the room, and Hermione began to feel the stirring of faith within her. Sunlight, to destroy the vampires, when all other methods would take too long to implement. Two words, and one problem would be gone.

It was not a full strategy to win the war, but it was a start. And Hermione felt, for the first time, that everything would be alright in the end.

* * *

Looking back, she could almost call herself foolish for thinking that. Scylla had attacked again with a vengeance, this time sending his centaurs first to kill the aurors any who could cast the spell. 

Hermione thumbed through the clippings, coming at last to the longest one. This was the only clipping which she had let keep its title. A foolish thing to do, but she had still held a small shred of faith. Yet now, with Scylla sitting on trial and with every word affirming that he was no longer the Savior the wizarding world had hoped for, the large black words seemed to mock her faint hopes:

**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED KILLED. HAS HARRY POTTER FINALLY COME TO SAVE US?**

No, he hadn't. It had all been a trap, one which she had spun, and Ron had implemented; one which the entire Order had rejected. She'd stopped speaking to them after that. She had told only Ron the particulars of her idea, not realizing that he was carefully filing away her thoughts for later implementation.

Voldemort was destroyable – he had a weakness which they knew: the Horcruxes. If they were destroyed, then Voldemort could die. Harry, of course, had to be the one to issue the killing curse, but, if he did, Voldemort was finished. Assuming the Horcruxes could be located and destroyed, there were only two things that needed to be done. One was to somehow let Harry know that they were gone. The other was to incite him to hate Voldemort. In his new persona as Lord Scylla, hating Voldemort would be enough of an incentive to get him to kill Voldemort.

Ron had disappeared for months, shortly after. During those months, the war escalated, and Hermione withdrew further and further into herself as she searched for another way to end this bloodshed.

Ron had returned to her, weary and hurt, but with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He refused to tell her exactly why. Now, Hermione understood his decision. She would have tried to stop him. She would have echoed the words of the other Order members, told him it was too dangerous. But, instead, blissfully unaware, she tended to his wounds, some looking weeks – months – old, and made sure he ate before sending him to sleep and to allow himself to heal.

Heal indeed. Heal the wounds he'd gained while destroying the remaining Horcruxes. And, with the very last one, he'd left a message for Lord Scylla. Pinned to Nagini's skin he had set a small piece of paper, on which was written words only someone with Harry's magic could see. It was a dark spell, one that would never have been condoned, but this was a dark war; they were not going to win without exploring all possibilities.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, and wondered what Harry's face had looked like when he read the words, written in an unfamiliar script.

_"There should only be one Dark Lord, Lord Scylla, and it should be you."_

Ron had asked Luna to write the message, a message obscure, yet pointed enough so that Lord Scylla would know what it really meant. That all the Horcruxes were gone; that Voldemort was defenseless against death.

Yet Scylla had no real need to kill Voldemort. Hermione had guessed this when she created her plan, and she had been right. Scylla was perfectly happy, he had what he wanted.

So Ron had stolen what Scylla held most dear and pinned the blame on Voldemort. During one of the attacks where Lord Scylla and Draco Malfoy were in two different places, Ron worked with all the aurors he could find to capture Draco Malfoy. As soon as they had subdued him, Ron himself cast _Morsmorde_.

And, Lord Scylla, coming upon the scene and seeing the dead bodies of his Centaurs strewn amid the field with the Dark Mark blaring in the sky overhead, had assumed that Voldemort had killed Draco as well.

Ron had barely had the time to order all aurors in the field fighting the Death Eaters that night to retreat before Scylla and his Furies of Hades arrived.

* * *

Hermione thumbed the newspaper clipping that described the event. Writers for every newspaper had gone on about how Scylla looked that night. He was the true image of a Dark Lord. He looked as if he wasn't human, and his battle against Voldemort was one worthy of legends, even if it was missing a hero. 

Scylla had not held back that night. The sky thundered, rain and lightning pelting down to the earth in torrents. His eyes had glowed an inhuman green, and his very skin shimmered with a lightning all its own.

Voldemort had stood no chance. Scylla said nothing as he attacked; Voldemort assumed it a betrayal and had fought back. Scylla killed him within minutes.

And, then, Scylla had disappeared. No one knew why, though speculation ran wild. Death Eaters were captured in large groups by aurors who pressed them back farther and farther towards Riddle Manor. Scylla's Furies of Hades were not seen during the next full month. Scylla himself was rumored to have died with Voldemort, though Hermione had not believed it for a second.

Then Ron came to her and told her what had truly happened. He'd asked for another plan – this time to capture Harry Potter.

This was a very different problem. The plan to defeat Voldemort had taken her months of thought. But defeating her former friend was something which required almost no thought. She knew Harry. Therefore, she knew Scylla.

And Scylla had a weakness; a prominent one. One who was secretly imprisoned in the heart of the Department of Mysteries.

Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione's footsteps echoed in the silent Department, her mind awhirl with the memories of the last time she had been in this place. Last time, she'd been too busy to realize how quiet the Department of Mysteries really was. Then again, there had likely been too much other noise last time to realize that. 

The room that had been chosen for Malfoy's cell was marked only by the two guards who stood in front of it. They were two friends of Ron from his training, and, though Hermione had never been formally introduced to them, they knew enough of her from Ron to offer her curt smiles as they let her through.

Malfoy looked little worse for wear to her, though he would probably have vehemently disagreed. Ron had been very careful when he'd captured Draco Malfoy – the stakes were too high for any mistake to be allowed.

Malfoy had been stripped of everything wizard – wand, robes, everything. He was given muggle clothes to wear. Even the food given to him was prepared by a muggle, albeit unknowingly. The room, too, had been stripped bare of everyything wizard. Ron had gone so far as to have someone buy muggle furniture from a muggle store, and to chain Malfoy to it with chains devoid of magic.

Hermione was Malfoy's first visitor. She was probably the most magical thing Malfoy had been in contact with for the past month.

He looked up at her as she entered, but said nothing. He didn't need to. His eyes, luminous with hatred, said enough. She felt his distain in her very blood – the exact same blood which caused his distain in the first place.

"Hello, Malfoy."

An eyebrow arched in surprise before his face replaced the look of surprise with his normal cold expression. She knew her voice sounded strange – unused as it had been for so long. What had once been her voice was now quiet, hoarse, rough from disuse. But she would not explain why to him, and he would not ask. It would be useless for him to ponder it.

"I'm here to talk to you about Harry." His eyes bore into her with a new hatred. "Yes, I know I'm not supposed to call him that anymore. I suppose only you get that privilege nowadays." She stepped up to him, just out of his reach, and removed her wand. "Voldemort is dead. Your Harry killed him. Now all who remains to lead the war is Harry, but he doesn't seem to want to. He thinks you're dead, Malfoy, and suddenly he doesn't want to fight anymore. He and his horde of Dark Creatures sit cornered in their little graveyard and sulk." She stepped back as he lunged for her wand. "You are his weakness, aren't you? And you know it."

She sighed, moving away from him again, feeling his gaze following her wand as she walked from one end of the room to the other in a slow pace. "The wizarding world is all but destroyed. I'm surprised we've been able to keep the war from the muggles for this long. Then again, neither side wanted muggles involved." She gave him a sharp look. "At least until the war was over. If you had won, you would have destroyed the muggles. And if we had won, we would have begun the work of cleaning up from all those muggle deaths which your side revels in." She resumed pacing. "The wizarding world cannot take much more war. And, if we do not somehow bring Harry out of that graveyard to us, then it will stretch on. What happens once all the Death Eaters are rounded up? The aurors will start trying to capture the Furies of Hades. Yet, Harry wouldn't let that happen. That graveyard won't be taken in a matter of months, much less the days that people seem to think it will."

She returned to stand in front of him. "So, we'll bring Harry to us." She watched the understanding light in his eyes. "We'll put you on trial for war crimes. Harry will come to save you. And then we'll capture him."

Malfoy's eyes stared in comprehending helplessness at the wand now pointed at him. "I bet you're good at things like Occlumency, Malfoy. You have that kind of mind, unlike Harry. But you just don't have the mental strength that he does. And it's come down to a battle of that strength. My strength, my will to end this war – or your will to save Harry from his fate."

And then she uttered one word, a spell that she once had been so certain she would never say when she'd first read of it and its dark uses.

_"Imperio."_

* * *

The pale morning light that filtered through the window was unlike the light of the morning when they'd announced that Draco Malfoy would be put on trial, Hermione remembered. It had rained that day. It had _poured_. It had thundered, and the sky had been split with lightning. 

Hermione blinked blearily and returned the clippings to the folder she kept them in. Once this was all over she might finish reading through them and put the ghosts of the past to rest. But now, the trial was beginning its second week, and her ghosts were still very much alive.

She would go and listen, she told herself. But not today. She did not need to relive the helpless months of searching for a way to stop the flow of attacks lead by Lord Scylla. She did not need to hear his words edged with delight as he spoke of killing the helpless. She would hear his last commentary, set to be heard Saturday, of the day when he'd heard Malfoy was to be tried for war crimes. And then she would hear as witnesses, like Ron, were called to testify to their part.

Ron, as Head Auror and the 'mastermind' behind the plot. The two guards who had guarded Malfoy for a month before the trap. The fifteen other aurors that had waited to ambush Malfoy and the other Furies of Hades with him – who'd waited again for Scylla to arrive in the Ministry to try to save Malfoy.

She owed it to them to listen. And she knew her name would be spoken more than once. But she would not testify. It would be known what she did – the dark curse she'd cast on Draco Malfoy in order to insure that Scylla was brought to his knees. Ron had known of her part in the plan all along, she hadn't hid it from him or any of the others who worked with him.

She'd already had her time on the witness stand, and been pardoned for her use of an Unforgivable because of her reasons for casting it. She was not without punishment for her crime – her wand was now strictly monitored. But she didn't mind. Let the Ministry record how many cleaning spells she used each day if they wanted – now that the war was finally on its way to completion, she had nothing to hide, no great plan to plot.

Her part in history was over.


	14. Chapter 13

_Chapter Thirteen: Fall of a Lord_

The announcement of Draco Malfoy's trial made headlines in the wizarding community around the world – the Ministry of Magic made sure of it. The date, the time, and the location of the trial were also highly publicized. They wanted to make sure that everyone knew of the trial – especially Lord Scylla.

Muggle weathermen were astounded the night before the trial when a freak thunderstorm racked the entirety of the British Isles, but Ron knew the sign for what it was. Lord Scylla knew Malfoy was alive, and he was furious. As he sat and watched the rain pelt down against the window, a part of him wanted to call the whole thing off, execute Malfoy without a trial, and deal with the consequences.

His father, were he still alive, would be ashamed of him. His mother, though he hadn't talked to her in weeks, probably was already. She certainly would be once this was over, no matter wether he captured Scylla or not.

The plan terrified him. It was ingenious, but terrifying. A public war trial; the room would be packed with people, innocent and unaware. Scylla would come as well, even if Ron could not predict whether he would disguise himself or simply attack without warning. And Scylla would, in that room full of people, attempt to take back Draco Malfoy. If Hermione's spell held in place, Malfoy would subdue Scylla, and the war would be over.

They were prepared for this outcome. The chamber prepared for Scylla's imprisonment before his own war trial had been finished two days ago – one even more strictly non-magical than Malfoy's. No stray magic was let in or out through heavy warding, and Ron himself had implemented the wards that would continually drain Harry's magic out of him, rendering him a powerless prisoner.

And Ron felt so _awful_ about it, as if he were doing something so dreadfully wrong. He couldn't stop thinking about Scylla as Harry, and when he did, every act against Scylla was suddenly an act against his best friend. But he would do this – he had to. So many people, so many good people, were dead at Scylla's – at _Harry's_ – hands. He could not overlook their deaths simply because of his feelings of friendship from the past.

* * *

The morning of Malfoy's 'trial' dawned with a peal of thunder. Wizards of every age trudged through the pouring rain to the huge amphitheater set up in the Ministry of Magic to watch the trial. 

Ron woke early, hours before the trial was to begin, and sat at the window watching the rain. The breakfast that Hermione made for him was undoubtedly good and tasty, but he tasted nothing as he mechanically ate it. They sat in silence until the clock on the wall chimed eight forty-five. Then Ron rose silently, kissed Hermione good-bye, and floo'd to the Ministry. It was time to get Malfoy for his trial.

The other aurors looked as Ron felt, and they barely managed a nod to each other as they passed. There was too much riding on today to worry about such pleasantries.

Malfoy's wand was exactly where he'd placed it in the vaulted room in the Department of Mysteries. He held it for a second, looking at it – the wand which would be the wand to curse Lord Scylla. Hermione had likely already given Malfoy the order for today, even though she refused to be at the trial itself; She didn't need to be present to keep the spell strong, though, so Ron hadn't pushed the matter. Truly, he didn't want her to see what would happen.

Malfoy was awake and glaring at him as he entered the room. It was a helpless glare, however, and Ron knew that Hermione's spell still held as strongly as it had when she'd cast it. Malfoy had been under Imperius for a little over three days – it was hardly enough time to create a resistance to the curse if Malfoy even had the willpower to resist.

The hand that gave Malfoy his wand was cold and clammy, and it shook like a harp string when plucked too harshly, but Malfoy said nothing. Ron almost wished he would. The Malfoy from their school days would not have let Ron's nervousness go uncommented – he would not have missed the opportunity to insult Ron. Yet this Malfoy seemed to find nothing to say to his captor as Ron led him to the court room.

A hush fell over the crowd as they entered and the aurors latched Malfoy's feet to the legs of his chair. Longer chains were used to bind Malfoy's arms to the chair as well, but, they allowed for movement as he would need one arm later.

Later… Ron scoffed at himself. There was no 'later'. 'Later' was now; _now_ the fate of the wizarding world would be decided.

The Wizengamot members took their places, and the Head of the Wizengamot stood to begin the trial.

The lights flickered. Ron tensed. Harry was here. Harry was somewhere in the room, but he was here.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy-"

Lightning crashed outside, the lights flickered, and the Head of the Wizengamot never finished his sentence. He keeled over, the words dead in his throat.

A gasp permeated the room, and Ron winced. The first casualty.

The two members next to the former Head carefully lifted his body from the dais where it had fallen. "He's been cursed," came the verdict. "Strangled to death."

_Strangulo _(lit. 'I strangle'), Ron's mind supplied with a detached, academic air which he'd always associated with Hermione during his training. He shook his head slightly at the aurors next to him. They had to stay put. If they didn't, the whole plan would fail. As much as he wanted to end the trial and get all the innocents out of the room, he couldn't.

He wouldn't.

Thunder pealed; the lights flickered one last time and went out. Ron closed his eyes as screams echoed around the room. Chairs were overturned, and if he quieted his mind, he could even tell the difference between a scream of fright and a scream of one in the throes of death.

The sounds escalated, and Ron had to physically hold back some of the junior aurors seated next to him. It would all be over soon. Soon it would be finished. If they could just wait-

"_Stupefy._"

Draco Malfoy's voice rang out like a bell in the confusion, and Ron let go of the aurors.

"Someone get the lights back on!" he ordered, "And get these people out of here."

He cast _Lumos,_ and approached Malfoy. A cloaked figure lay draped over his body, and a single tear fell down his cheek. One look at Malfoy's eyes told Ron that Hermione's curse had ended. As he reached for the body, Malfoy's arms wrapped around it as his wand clattered to the floor. Ron pushed them off roughly, and turned the body over.

The lightning bolt scar told Ron all he needed to know: the war was over.

* * *

Ron stepped down from the witness stand amidst silence and walked to the seat Hermione had saved for him. He was the last of the aurors to speak. Now, the Wizengamot would discuss and give their verdict. All they had to do was wait. 

Surrounded by aurors, Scylla awaited his sentence with dead eyes. Ron couldn't look at him. Hermione had stopped trying to do so long before. She took Ron's hand and squeezed it gently. It was almost over. Now all they could do was wait.

* * *

The Wizengamot sat together inside a bubble of privacy for almost an hour and a half as the rest of the room waited. Finally, the pale blue film disappeared, and Rok'lan stood. He waited for a moment as the scribbling of the press died down to silence before speaking. 

"We will now judge the actions of one Lord Scylla, formerly Harry Potter." He turned to fix Scylla with his gaze. Scylla gazed back emotionlessly. "You were charged with the murder of a hundred and seventy-two wizards and witches, and three hundred and forty-five Muggles, as well as helping to lead a conspiracy and exciting certain groups, specifically Vampires and Centaurs, to join in this rebellion. We, the Wizengamot, find you guilty of all charges."


	15. Chapter 14

_Chapter Fourteen: Salvation or Perdition_

Azkaban Prison was no less of a looming monstrosity without the Dementors as it had been with them. Ron hated Azkaban. Yes, he saw the necessity of it, but, to him, it would always be the incarnation of Hell, something that mere mortals had no right building, let alone using.

He had made this trip many times, bringing one Death Eater after another to this place. Not many of them had remained alive. Lucius Malfoy: executed. Bellatrix Lestrange: executed. Rodolphus Lestrange: life-time sentence. Walden Macnair: executed. Crabbe Sr. and Jr.: executed. Goyle Sr. and Jr.: executed. Blaise Zabini: life-time sentence. Theodore Nott: executed. Pansy Parkinson: executed. Draco Malfoy: to be executed tomorrow. The list wound on and on, more names and faces than Ron wished to remember… and many, many more names he did not recognize and faces that he would never have met… all brought to this place because of one common sin.

And, now, his once-best-friend was to join them. The last one on a list which Ron wished had never been made.

The Head Auror sighed as the stunned wizard was brought into the boat and laid roughly across the wooden floor. The strange eyes that were infamous as Lord Scylla's eyes were glazed over and unblinking. Ron tapped his wand against the side of the boat, and it began to move through the murky water silently, toward what would be Harry's final resting place.

Scylla… _Harry Potter_: life-time sentence.

As the boat neared the island fortress, dark storm clouds began to close in around the moon.

* * *

He walked like a man defeated, Ron thought, as he and two other aurors brought Harry towards the cells occupied by Death Eaters. These were the deepest and darkest levels of the prison, where the only light came from Ron's own wand and where the scant moonlight crept in through the small barred windows of the prison. He should have been happy that Scylla wasn't making things difficult. Even without a wand, the dark wizard could have fought back effectively enough. But he didn't. He just slowly walked as if the world had closed him off from its light and left him to the darkness. 

Ron had to remind himself that it was Harry's own choices which brought him to this in order to appease his own guilt.

They were passing the cells of Death Eaters now. Scylla slowed slightly to look at the destroyed human souls which sat in their cells, but he kept moving, so Ron allowed the change of pace. No Death Eater looked towards the group, and Scylla did not try to communicate with them in any way until they reached the second to last cell, which was no Death Eater's cell.

Harry… Scylla, stopped, his eyes fixed unblinkingly at the figure who sat on the stone floor of the cell looking back at him with sad, cold eyes.

One of the aurors next to Harry prodded him, first lightly, then more forcefully, but still Harry did not step forward.

"Sir-" the man turned to Ron as if to ask what to do, but was suddenly pushed to the floor as Harry leapt toward the bars of the cage.

"Stop." Ron steadied the other auror whose wand was pointed at Harry, a spell waiting on his lips.

Harry gripped the bars of Malfoy's cell as if trying to move them through sheer force of will. Ron couldn't bear to look at him. Even though he'd heard, from Harry's own lips, that he held no remorse for his actions, the guilt ate away at the redhead.

"Just let him in!" Ron muttered. "Malfoy's going to die tomorrow anyway; he can sit in this cell just as he would in the other one."

Weak! Ron cringed to himself as the other two aurors stunned Harry again and dragged him inside the cell. Even after all he's done you still pity him! Weakling! Ron cursed as they fastened the iron chains around Harry's neck, hands, and feet. Even after all he's said you still can't think of him as what he really is! You pathetic weakling!

Ron waited only until the other two aurors had locked the cell and removed the stunning charm from Harry's prone form before turning and stalking away, trying to forget that he would have to come back the next day to drag Malfoy to his execution.

* * *

Harry moved from his position on the floor to a sitting position slowly, as the spell wore off and he regained control of his limbs. 

"What did they decide?" Draco asked, leaning against the stone wall. Harry's eyes traced the reflection of moonlight that glistened from the polished iron chains connected to the other's neck, wrists, and ankles as he shifted.

"Life sentence."

"Even as fallen as you are, they still couldn't bear to kill the Boy-Who-Lived." The mirth in Draco's tone was sour, rotted.

"Don't speak like that."

Draco's eyes lowered to the patch of floor visible in the dim light of the moon. "I'm going to die tomorrow, Harry. Knowing that… changes ones perceptions on a lot of things." Silver orbs rose to seek out Harry's eyes in the dark shadows of the other side of the cell but could not find them. "I've damned myself. All that I said… you could say it was all my fault. Mine and Lord Voldemort's. They'd believe you; so easily they'd believe you. You don't have to stay here and rot like the rest of them." He tossed his head lightly back toward the wall behind him where Harry knew all the other Death Eaters for whom there just wasn't enough evidence for the grounds of execution were sentenced just as he was, to life in Azkaban. "You could move on and-"

"Shut up!" Harry's words were a mixture of a hiss and a shout. "Do you even hear what you're saying?"

"Harry, Lord Voldemort is dead!"

"And that makes me the Dark Lord." Harry slowly reached out towards Draco, his chains protesting as he pulled, trying to make them reach farther than they were designed to reach. "I've done it, Draco. What you asked for back then, I've done it! I've damned myself thrice over and I don't care what the price. Believe me, Draco, I told too. _All of it_. Under Veritaserum so they couldn't doubt me. I told them why and I told them how. And their reaction changes _nothing_. Their sentence changes nothing."

Draco looked at the hand held out to him, half-encased in shadow and half-revealed by moonlight. It was his left hand, and the emerald snake glittered on his flesh in the pale light.

"I am the Dark Lord now, Draco. I will lay the world at your feet. I will purge it of all those too unworthy to live in it. All you need do is ask it of me. Stand by my side as I conquer it."

Draco could see Harry's eyes now, the strange bird-like eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light in the shadows.

"Let me give it to you, Draco," Harry whispered. "I've damned myself for you, now be my salvation."

Slowly, Draco reached out for Harry's hand. The chains creaked as they reached for each other, stopping their fingers from meeting by barely a centimeter.

Harry hissed, and Draco heard something shift. The chain cut into Harry's hand and a trickle of blood dripped down the iron and onto the floor as Harry forced his hand to go farther and grasp Draco's fingertips.

Outside the prison of Azkaban, it began to rain.

* * *

Ron woke at the first crack of thunder, and jolted from the bed. Hermione mumbled something at the movement and opened her eyes slowly to see her husband leaning on the windowsill. As she watched, a tear fell down his cheek as his face was illuminated for a second by a bolt of lightning. 

Silently, she moved from the warmth of the covers and padded over to Ron, wrapping her arms around his torso. With a muffled sob, he melted in her arms, turning and letting his head fall upon her shoulder.

"I'm so stupid!" he rasped. "I basically gave him Malfoy, of course he'd try to break out!"

Hermione rocked him slowly, knowing that this was no ordinary storm, knowing that this was the same storm that highlighted the sky whenever Harry tapped into his full power… a storm strong enough to kill and to maim… a storm strong enough to break the very stone of Azkaban if Harry wished it.

"They'll be fire-calling me any minute now…" her husband whispered into her shoulder, "want me to take a squad up to Azkaban and make sure it's still there… 'course they won't know what we'll find there… they'll never know, never believe. They never understood his power, what we're up against. Everyone will be killed, but he'll leave me alive like he always does! He's lost it, 'Mione… completely lost it! But he's going to win this… he's just got more power than we do… and with Voldemort gone, he'll just run his Vampires through the whole country. It'll be a bloody feast for them."

"Voldemort kept him grounded somewhat," Hermione whispered. "But what Voldemort wanted to rule, Harry wants to destroy."

Ron held her tight as her well-known sentence flittered through his ears. "And he'll do it. He'll level everything we've built up and lay it all at bloody Malfoy's feet, like some sacrificial offering! And I can't do anything to stop it!"

Hermione's eyes clouded for a moment as she looked out over the storm that was expanding as if to cover the entire country. "Sometimes…" she spoke, her normal tone harsh from misuse. "Sometimes it's better to give in."

Ron stood upright, turning slightly so that his shadow blocked her from the frequent flashes of lightning. "What did you say?"

"It's what Harry wants." Her voice was soft, not her normal volume, but it was her tone that startled him. It was a firm, knowing tone – one he hadn't heard for a very long time. "Malfoy may have changed him, but Harry had to take the last step and allow it. Yet he still always lets you live, Ron. How many people can say that? I think that somewhere, in the shell of a man that Scylla is, Harry still recognizes that it's you…"

"You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting!" Ron hissed, his hands grasping her shoulders.

"I don't want you to die, Ron." Hermione whispered. "We've lost so many… I don't want to lose you too."

There was a tell-tale roar from the fireplace in the next room and a yelled "Ron!". The redhead stiffened and looked down at Hermione, who was already looking out the window again, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"I won't die, Hermione." He told her before he stepped out of her loose embrace and headed toward the other room, grabbing his auror uniform as he did so.

"You always say that… but in the end, it will be Harry who decides if that's true," Hermione whispered as she leaned against the glass and tried to ignore the small whooshing sound of Ron leaving through the floo. Tears began to flow in a steady stream down her face. "He looses more and more of himself every day, and someday, whatever reminds him of us will be gone… and then he'll kill you."

* * *

Azkaban was a blazing ruin when the team of aurors arrived. The other members looked on in awe and horror, but Ron was not surprised. The smell of molten flesh filled the air, and he realized that Scylla had not freed the imprisoned Death Eaters before leaving the place in flames. One auror asked timidly if they should call in a fire-squad to try and put it out, but Ron shook his head. Nothing they could do would stop this fire until it had run its course. The very stones were burning, melting. The island itself would be under siege by the flames when they were done. Harry would destroy what was made by man _and_ what was made by nature to obtain his goal. Ron understood the message. This was a new fight, with a new leader. The Dark Lord Voldemort was dead, and now his Heir, Lord Scylla, would wage his own war. With a heavy heart, Ron turned the team around and headed for the Order Headquarters. They had to be ready for Scylla… if they could be.

* * *

Draco carefully stepped over the corpse of an auror, idly thinking that this one looked familiar… he had to be someone he'd known from Hogwarts, but considering his facial features had been molded into flesh-colored slush by Harry's lightning, it was rather difficult to tell who he was.

They were all here now, all the Furies of Hades, standing together as brethren while waiting for Scylla, who was perched on the tombstone of Tom Riddle, to speak.

He took a moment to ponder the carved rock on which he lounged, taking in the carved name on the headstone, the grim reaper which seemed to be watching over it.

"The Grim Reaper. How very muggle. How very inferior." His smile was sardonic, and he seemed to glide off the headstone, robes unfurling around him. "I don't think we need _this_ here any longer, do we?"

There were amused chuckles from the crowd, and Harry's smile widened into a horrific, amused expression. His left hand waved through the air to point at the stone, and lightning crashed down to strike it, its power a brilliant blue. The very stone shattered and fragmented, then melted away into a fine dust.

"The old regime has ended," Scylla commented, remarking on the dust. He turned to his followers, his family, the brilliant light shining in his eyes that Draco had seen only in the height of battle. "Lord Voldemort and his followers are no more. We, my Furies of Hades, are all that are left. I think that's more than the wizarding world can handle, don't you?"

Again, amused chuckles drifted through the assembled Furies.

"Of course they can't handle us. Descended from Jupiter. Sired by Hades. Guarded by Hecate. Beloved by War. This is our time; this is _our_ world. Let us encase it in night, drive out Sol and put Luna on his throne. Will you stand by me and take what is yours, my Furies?"

Roars of approval split the night as Harry reached for Draco's hand and pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

"Here, my beloved, is the world. It is yours, and I give it to you, along with my heart."

**_Est Finis_**


End file.
